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SOPHOCLES 


Homer  to  Theocritus 

An  Outline  History  of  Classical  Greek 
Literature  with  Selected  Translations 


BY 


EDWARD  CAPPS,  Ph.  D, 


Library 


NEW  YORK        CLEVELAND 

QLht  Clbattttattqtta  l^vtufi 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 
CHICAGtt£^LlFORj5^fe 


mm  ROOM 


Copyright,  1900, 
By  Edward  Capps. 


CONTENTS 

:H AFTER  PAGE 

I.  Introductory       -           .           .          -  .         i 

II.  Epic  Poetry.    Introduction  to  the  Iliad  14 

III.  The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad        -  -  35 

IV.  The  Odyssey.    Homer  Ai^ib  Troy            -  69 
V.  The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets  -     11 1 

VI.  Choral  Lyric.    Pindar       -           -          -  132 

VII.  Tragic  Poetry.    iEscHYLUS     -          -  -     146 

VIII.  Sophocles        -----  179 

IX.  Euripides   -           -           -          -           -  -     199 

X.  Comic  Poetry.    Aristophanes      -          -  229 

XI.  The  Historians.    Herodotus            -  -     252 

XII.  Thucydides  and  Xenophon           -          -  263 

XIII.  The  Orators.    Demosthenes             -  -  279 

XIV.  Philosophical  Prose.    Plato       -          -  302 
XV.  Theocritus  and  his  Age         -          -  -     318 


217934 


PREFACE 

The  literature  of  ancient  Greece  is  too  precious  a 
heritage  of  our  race  to  be  reserved  for  those  alone 
who  read  Greek  freely.  The  number  of  these  in  the 
United  States  is  growing  rapidly,  but  the  growth  is 
hardly  keeping  pace  with  the  increase  in  the  attend- 
ance upon  our  schools  and  colleges.  I  conceive  it  to 
be  the  duty  of  every  true  Hellenist  to  encourage,  to 
the  best  of  his  ability,  not  only  the  study  of  the  Greek 
literature  through  the  Greek  language — and  in  this 
effort  the  scope  of  his  influence  is  limited,  in  these 
days  of  elective  studies  and  overcrowded  curricula — 
but  also  of  the  Greek  literature  through  the  standard 
translations  which  have  a  place  in  English  literature. 
Not  that  a  translation  can  ever  adequately  reproduce 
Homer  or  Plato.  Even  the  best  translation  of  the 
Iliad  seems  a  cold  and  lifeless  thing  when  compared 
with  the  winged  words  of  Homer  himself.  But  the 
Iliad  of  Lang,*  Leaf,  and  Myers  and  Jowett's  Plato 
are  great  works,  considered  simply  as  literature,  even  if 
they  do  not  reproduce  all  of  the  qualities  of  Homer 
and  Plato.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  time  is  not  far 
distant  when  those  who  arrange  our  schemes  of  edu- 
cation will  emulate  the  example  of  France  in  provid- 
ing, for  those  who  do  not,  from  choice  or  necessity, 
pursue  the  study  of  Greek  in  the  schools  and  colleges, 
a  sort  of  Golden  Treasury  of  the  masterpieces  of  the 
world's  literatures,  in  which  the  great  poets  and  prose 


PREFACE 

The  literature  of  ancient  Greece  is  too  precious  a 
heritage  of  our  race  to  be  reserved  for  those  alone 
who  read  Greek  freely.  The  number  of  these  in  the 
United  States  is  growing  rapidly,  but  the  growth  is 
hardly  keeping  pace  with  the  increase  in  the  attend- 
ance upon  our  schools  and  colleges.  I  conceive  it  to 
be  the  duty  of  every  true  Hellenist  to  encourage,  to 
the  best  of  his  ability,  not  only  the  study  of  the  Greek 
literature  through  the  Greek  language — and  in  this 
effort  the  scope  of  his  influence  is  limited,  in  these 
days  of  elective  studies  and  overcrowded  curricula — 
but  also  of  the  Greek  literature  through  the  standard 
translations  which  have  a  place  in  English  literature. 
Not  that  a  translation  can  ever  adequately  reproduce 
Homer  or  Plato.  Even  the  best  translation  of  the 
Iliad  seems  a  cold  and  lifeless  thing  when  compared 
with  the  winged  words  of  Homer  himself.  But  the 
Iliad  of  Lang,'  Leaf,  and  Myers  and  Jowett's  Plato 
are  great  works,  considered  simply  as  literature,  even  if 
they  do  not  reproduce  all  of  the  qualities  of  Homer 
and  Plato.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  time  is  not  far 
distant  when  those  who  arrange  our  schemes  of  edu- 
cation will  emulate  the  example  of  France  in  provid- 
ing, for  those  who  do  not,  from  choice  or  necessity, 
pursue  the  study  of  Greek  in  the  schools  and  colleges, 
a  sort  of  Golden  Treasury  of  the  masterpieces  of  the 
world's  literatures,  in  which  the  great  poets  and  prose 


viii  Preface 

writers  of  Greece  will  find  a  place.  A  beginning  has 
already  been  made  in  this  direction  by  the  inclusion 
of  Pope's  Iliad  in  the  list  of  English  classics  required 
for  admission  to  most  of  our  colleges. 

It  was  with  the  purpose  of  furthering  this  cause 
that  this  book  was  undertaken,  not  without  hope  that 
the  younger  student  who  is  not  far  advanced  in  the 
study  of  the  Greek  language  might  also  find  help  and 
stimulus  in  its  use.  The  choice  of  selections  has 
been  determined  in  many  instances  by  the  accessibility 
of  the  translation  to  the  general  public.  I  have  tried, 
as  far  as  space  would  permit,  to  place  each  branch  of 
literature  and  each  author  in  its  proper  setting,  keep- 
ing constantly  in  mind  the  course  of  development 
of  the  literature  as  a  whole.  Three  chapters  which 
are  needed  to  make  the  outline  complete — viz.,  the 
Homeric  Hymns  and  Hesiod,  the  Lost  Writers  of  the 
Fourth  Century  (especially  the  early  poets  of  the  New 
Comedy),  and  Aristotle — have  been  omitted  in  order  to 
bring  the  book  within  the  desired  limits.  They  will 
be  added,  together  with  some  selections  from  the 
anthology  and  more  extended  quotations,  especially 
from  the  prose  writers,  in  an  enlarged  edition  which 
will  appear  in  the  near  future. 

Chicago,  June  i,  1900. 


HOMER   TO    THEOCRITUS 


CHAPTER    I 

INTRODUCTORY 

General  Characteristics  of  Greek  Literature  —  Originality  — 
Universality — Normal  Growth  —  Freedom  from  Outside 
Influences — Influence  Upon  Modern  Literatures  and  Mod- 
ern Thought —  Literature  a  Product  —  The  Greek  People 
— Achasans—yEolians— Dorians— lonians — The  Attic  Dia- 
lect— Political  Organization — Diversity  of  Political  Condi- 
tions—  Physical  Environment — Love  of  Nature — Publica- 
tion of  Greek  Literature — Periods  of  Greek  Literature. 

The  literature  of  ancient  Greece  forms  an  ideal 
introduction  to  the  study  of  literature  in  general,  not 
only  because  it  is  the  earliest  literature  of  Europe  and 
has  exercised  a  powerful  influence  upon  all  succeeding 
literatures,  and  not  simply  because  it  is  still  and  always 
will  be  one  of  the  great  world  literatures,  but  also 
because,  as  an  object  of  study,  it  presents  certain  gen- 
eral characteristics  the  consideration  of  which  cannot 
but  prove  instructive  to  all  students. 

Apart  from  the  intrinsic  excellence  in  form  and 
thought  of  the  Greek  masterpieces,  upon  which  it 
would  be  superfluous  to  dwell  here,  we  may  emphasize 
first  the  originality  of  the  Greek  literature.  Inheriting 
no  literary  traditions,  surrounded  by  peoples  who  could 
furnish  them  with  no  literary  models,  they  wrought 
out,    practically  unaided,  through  the   force  of  their 


,  2  ,   .   , ,    '  '    '  Homer  to  Theocritus 
.•. ;  /.\^  ;,<; ',  ,'  ■ :  :     :  ,;\  ^  } 

own  geniiis,  most' of  the  literary  forms  which  the  races 
of  Europe  have  accepted  as  typical  and  universal.  To 
appreciate  fully  the  significance  of  this  achievement 
we  must  bear  in  mind  that  even  the  chief  types  of 
prose,  to  say  nothing  of  poetry,  have  of  course  no 
existence  in  the  nature  of  things,  but  are  the  results 
of  repeated  exper^'''»ientation  and  of  conscious  effort 
to  present  the  subj  ..t-matter  in  the  most  appropriate 
and  effective  artistic  form.  Now  the  most  perfect 
orations  of  Demosthenes  and  the  dialogues  of  Plato 
embody  the  results  of  such  experiments  extending 
over  several  generations  in  Greece.  The  orations  of 
Demosthenes  and  the  dialogues  of  Plato  were  accord- 
ingly distinctively  Greek  creations.  Cicero,  on  the 
other  hand,  depended  upon  his  Greek  models  rather 
than  upon  his  predecessors  in  Rome.  Roman  oratory, 
therefore,  and  the  dialogue  as  exemplified  in  Cicero, 
were  not  distinctively  Roman  creations.  The  origi- 
nality of  the  Greeks  in  literature  was  shown  in  every 
branch  which  they  attempted,  both  in  prose  and  in 
poetry. 

Bi}/  their  originality  would  not  be  a  matter  of  such 
importance  were  it  not  for  the  further  fact  that  the 
forms  and  types  which  the  Greeks  originated  were 
themselves  of  an  essentially  universal  character. 
Other  races  also  have  brought  certain  literary  forms 
to  perfection.  The  Vedic  hymns  of  the  early  Hindus, 
the  penitential  psalms  of  the  Babylonians,  the 
prophetic  writings  of  the  Hebrews,  and  the  satires  in 
verse  of  the  Romans,  are  all  creations  original  with 
these  peoples,  and  to  them  were  satisfactory  forms  of 
literary  expression.  But  these  types  have  not  appealed 
to  the  artistic  sense  of   other  races  in  the  same  way, 


Introductory  3 

but  have  remained  peculiar  to  the  peoples  which 
originated  them.  They  are  unique  and  sometimes 
really  great,  but  in  no  sense  universal.  The  great  crea- 
tions of  the  Greeks,  on  the  other  hand,  have  furnished 
the  western  hemisphere  with  its  highest  ideals  in 
literary  form  in  many  branches.  This  is  due  to  the 
fact  that  the  Greeks  had  abov^^'all  other  peoples, 
ancient  or  modern,  an  artistic  'fe'fense  for  what  was 
beautiful  in  form  and  appropriate  in  expression,  as  is 
well  illustrated  by  their  temples  and  statues.  They 
did  not  achieve  their  ideals  all  at  once,  but  only 
after  ages  of  effort.  But  every  step  in  the  progress 
toward  perfection  was  directed  by  instincts  which 
rarely  erred. 

Perhaps  the  most  instructive  characteristic  of 
Greek  literature,  considered  in  the  course  of  its  deveU 
opment,  is  the  fact  that  its  progress  toward  perfection 
was  a  normal  growth.  Changes  were  slow  and  regu- 
lar, never  taking  on  the  character  of  a  revolution. 
This  is  the  result,  largely,  of  the  fact  to  which  we 
have  already  alluded,  the  relative  freedom  from  out- 
side influences.  Consequently  the  causes  ./hich 
determined  the  development  of  this  literature  are 
more  easily  discerned  and  the  course  of  the  changes 
traced  with  greater  precision  than  in  the  case  of  any 
other  literature.  The  Greeks  were,  of  course, 
indebted  to  other  nations  in  various  ways,  and  we  may 
not  overlook  such  influences  as  we  may  detect  with 
certainty.  Along  with  the  alphabet  they  doubtless 
received  intellectual  stimulus  from  the  Phoenicians; 
from  the  oriental  races  of  Asia  Minor  they  derived 
important  ideas  in  music  and  religion  which  exercised 
no    little   influence    upon    their   poetry   and    morals; 


4  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Egypt,  Assyria,  Persia,  and  Rome  in  turn  were  respon- 
sible for  accessions  of  knowledge  and  extended  their 
horizon.  The  Greeks  were  far  from  insensible  to 
the  merits  of  other  peoples,  and  gladly  laid  them 
under  contribution.  But  after  taking  all  these  things 
into  consideration,  Greek  literature  as  a  whole  can  be 
studied  as  essentially  the  product  of  a  single  people; 
for  from  without  they  received  but  impulses,  never  a 
fully  developed  principle  nor  a  perfected  literary  form. 
Consequently  the  growth  of  the  literature  as  a  whole 
was  regular  and  normal,  and  the  various  kinds  of  liter- 
ature, corresponding  to  successive  stages  in  the  social, 
political,  and  moral  development,  were  produced  in 
an  orderly  succession.  Epic  poetry,  for  example, 
reflects  the  patriarchal  stage  in  Greek  civilization ; 
Lyric  poetry,  the  aristocratic,  the  Drama,  the  demo- 
cratic; while  Prose,  representing  the  period  of  highest 
popular  culture,  came  to  its  flower  after  Poetry. 

We  have  referred  to  the  influence  of  the  Greek 
literature  upon  the  literatures  of  modern  Europe. 
Directly  or  indirectly,  it  has  been  the  predominating 
influence.  This  influence  has  been  exerted  partly 
through  the  medium  of  the  Latin  literature,  espe- 
cially upon  the  literatures  of  southern  Europe,  and 
for  a  long  time  upon  those  o-f  northern  Europe, 
and  in  part  directly,  especially,  perhaps  during  the 
last  two  centuries,  owing  to  the  revival  of  Greek 
studies  in  England,  Germany,  and  France.  The 
poetry  of  Tennyson  and  Brov/ning,  to  take  English 
examples,  is  permeated  by  Greek  influences,  and  can 
be  properly  studied  and  fully  appreciated  only  by  going 
back  to  the  Greek  masterpieces  which  furnished 
inspiration    and    suggestion    in    rhythms,    style,    and 


Introductory  j 

imagery.  The  same  is  true  of  the  great  classical 
writers  of  Germany  and  France.  Nor  can  we  over- 
look the  value  of  a  knowledge  of  Greek  literature  on 
the  purely  intellectual  side,  for  its  practical  bearing 
on  modern  thought.  Almost  every  department  of 
modern  life  has  received  impulse  and  direction  from 
the  great  thinkers  of  Greece — religion,  ethics,  philos- 
ophy, politics,  and  science. 

The  life  of  a  great  man  can  not  be  rightly  under- 
stood without  a  knowledge  of  his  ancestry,  early 
training,  the  social,  political,  and  religious  conditions 
of  his  time — in  short,  all  of  the  influences  which 
helped  to  mould  his  character  and  determine  his  con- 
duct. A  mere  chronological  account  of  his  doings 
would  be  wholly  inadequate  as  a  biography.  So  it  is 
with  the  literature  of  a  people.  While  we  may  get 
enjoyment  and  profit  from  the  reading  of  a  certain 
book  without  knowing  its  author  or  the  age  whose 
characteristics  are  reflected  in  it,  yet  the  advantage 
of  this  sort  of  reading  is,  after  all,  but  slight  in  com- 
parison with  that  to  be  had  from  a  study  of  the  same 
book  as  the  expression  of  an  individual  and  of  a 
people,  the  product  of  a  certain  civilization.  The 
more  remote  from  our  own  time  the  people  whose  lit- 
erary products  we  studv,  and  the  more  extensive  and 
varied  the  literature,  'che  more  necessary  it  becomes 
to  gain  the  vantage-ground  from  which  our  view  will 
be  least  obstructed,  our  vision  most  true.  To  this 
end  we  should  know  as  much  as  possible  of  the  people, 
of  their  racial  characteristics  as  moulded  by  their  envi- 
ronment, their  religious  beliefs  and  practices,  their 
view  of  nature,  their  social  and  family  life,  their  insti- 
tutions, language,  art,  history.     Within  the  limits   of 


6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

this  book  we  shall  have  to  confine  ourselves  to  a  few 
suggestions  and  general  topics,  and  to  short  accounts 
of  the  various  branches  of  literature  and  of  the  several 
authors.  But  the  right  point  of  view  should  be  con- 
stantly kept  in  mind,  and  the  reader  should  have  fre- 
quent recourse  to  some  of  the  manuals  of  history,  art, 
mythology,  and  social  life  to  which  reference  is  made 
in  the  bibliographies. 

In  prehistoric  times,  probably  as  late  as  fifteen  hun- 
dred years  before  Christ,  the  branch  of  the  Indo-Euro- 
pean race  which  we  know  as  the  Greeks  was  confined  to 
the  little  peninsula  of  Greece  and  the  outlying  islands, 
to  which  they  had  migrated  at  some  earlier  period. 
But  Greece  is  small  and  its  soil  too  poor  to  support  a 
large  population.  The  surplus  population  soon  took  to 
the  sea,  and  planted  colonies  on  the  most  inviting  sites 
all  over  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean.  Southern 
Italy  and  Sicily,  the  Ionian  and  ^gsean  islands  were 
occupied;  colonies  were  established  far  up  the  Nile 
and  along  the  northern  shores  of  Africa,  as  far  west 
as  Marseilles  and  beyond  the  Dardanelles  in  the  east. 
Greek  civilization  followed  each  colony,  and  inter- 
course with  the  mother  country,  intellectual  as  well 
as  commercial,  was  never  allowed  to  cease.  All  the 
important  offshoots  of  the  early  stock  contributed 
something  to  Greek  culture  and  to  the  common 
literature. 

Before  the  period  of  emigration  and  colonization 
the  dominant  people  in  Greece  were  the  Achaeans. 
This  is  the  name  by  which  Homer  designates  the  peo- 
ple who  went  against  Troy.  In  the  historical  period, 
however,  we  find  three  great  divisions  of  the  Greeks, 
distinguished   from   each   other  by   dialect,   customs, 


Introductory  7 

and  racial  qualities — ^oHans,  Dorians,  and  lonians. 
Since  each  of  these  families  had  its  own  distinctive 
part  in  Greek  literature,  it  is  necessary  to  know  where 
they  were  settled,  and,  briefly,  how  they  differed  from 
each  other. 

The  main  seat  of  the  ^olians,  when  literary  his- 
tory begins,  was  the  island  of  Lesbos  and  the  adjoin- 
ing coasts  of  Asia  Minor.  But  the  early  home  of  the 
stock  was  in  northern  Greece,  where  the  Thessalians, 
Boeotians,  and  ^tolians  remained  their  chief  represen- 
tatives. Only  the  ^olians  of  Asia  Minor  and  the 
Boeotians  on  the  mainland  were  fertile  in  literature, 
and  these  two  branches,  through  being  long  separated 
and  subject  to  widely  different  conditions,  had  retained 
few  common  characteristics,  except  in  speech,  at  the 
time  when  writers  appeared  among  them.  The  atmos- 
phere of  Boeotia  is  heavy  and  moist,  and  the  inhabitants 
came  to  be  regarded  by  their  neighbors  as  sluggish 
and  dull.  These  qualities  certainly  do  not  appear, 
however,  in  the  few  great  writers  and  generals  who 
sprang  from  Boeotian  soil.  As  for  the  Lesbians,  as 
the  climate  of  that  part  of  Asia  Minor  is  mild  and 
relaxing,  conducive  to  luxury  and  ease,  so  the  people 
were  impressionable,  luxurious,  and  imaginative. 
Lesbos  became  the  home  of  the  poetry  of  passion  and 
intense  personal  feeling. 

Some  time  after  the  Homeric  age  the  Dorians 
migrated  southward  from  northern  Greece,  driving 
out  or  making  subject  a  part  of  the  old  Achaean  popu- 
lation. In  historical  times  the  chief  Dorian  settle- 
ments were  Megara  and  Corinth  on  the  isthmus; 
Argolis,  Laconia,  and  Messena  in  the  Peloponnesus; 
Crete  and  Rhodes  in  the  ^gaean   Sea,  and  the  south- 


^ 


8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

west  portions  of  Asia  Minor;  Syracuse  in  Sicily,  and 
Tarentum  in  southern  Italy.  The  Spartans  of  Laconia 
were  regarded  as  the  Dorians  of  the  Dorians.  Keep- 
ing themselves  aloof  from  alien  influences,  they  devel- 
oped, certainly,  the  most  typical  Dorian  civilization, 
whereas  the  Corinthians  and  Syracusans  mixed  freely 
with  the  rest  of  the  world  and  lost  more  of  the  family 
characteristics.  The  Spartans  were  warlike  and 
reserved,  devoutly  religious,  intolerant  of  innovations, 
unemotional.  The  terse  and  rugged  Dorian  dialect, 
with  its  prevailing  broad  vowel-sounds,  always  seemed 
to  the  Greeks  peculiarly  appropriate  to  the  stately 
choral  odes  in  honor  of  the  gods,  which  the  Spartans 
first  brought  to  perfection. 

By  far  the  most  ir.  ^^ortant  in  the  history  of  Greek 
literature  were  the  lonians,  and  of  the  lonians  the 
older  branch  which  occupied  Attica  and  Euboea.  The 
settlements  along  the  coasts  of  Asia  Minor  between 
the  -^olic  cities  in  the  north  and  the  Doric  on  the 
south  were  Ionian,  and  also  most  of  the  islands  of  the 
^gaean.  The  lonians  claimed  numerous  colonies 
besides  in  Italy,  Sicily,  and  throughout  the  Mediter- 
ranean. The  language  of  the  lonians  was  soft  and 
flowing,  abounding  in  vowel  sounds,  forming  a  strik- 
ing contrast  with  the  Doric.  Even  the  prose  writings 
of  the  lonians  seem  to  have  a  poetic  flavor,  due  to  the 
rich  and  varied  grace  inherent  in  the  language  itself. 
The  Attic  dialect,  which  gradually  became  to  a  large 
degree  the  universal  language  of  cultured  Greeks,  is 
a  modified  form  of  the  Ionic,  uniting  energy  and  dig- 
nity to  softness  and  grace.  The  perfected  Attic  of 
the  time  of  Demosthenes  was  distinctly  a  literary 
dialect,  developed  by  generations  of  conscious  effort 


Introductory  9 

to  improve  it,  and  adapting  itself  in  a  wonderful  de- 
gree to  the  demands  of  all  varieties  of  prose  and 
poetry.  It  is  a  peculiar  feature  of  Attic  poetry  that  it 
freely  employs,  along  with  the  local  dialect,  also  the 
Doric  and  the  old  Ionic  in  forms  of  composition  in 
which  the  latter  seemed  more  appropriate.  In 
tragedy,  for  example,  we  may  find  Homeric  forms 
in  narrative  portions  that  partake  of  the  Homeric 
style,  Doric  in  the  lyric  portions  sung  by  the  chorus, 
and  the  old  Ionic  in  the  dialogue.  The  Athenians 
instinctively  associated  certain  styles  of  composition 
with  the  dialect  in  which  each  style  had  reached  its 
highest  development  outside  of  Athens.  In  this  way, 
either  by  imitation  or  by  assimilation,  they  appropri- 
ated to  their  own  use  all  forms  frexpression  that  would 
help  to  make  their  own  language  the  most  perfect 
literary  instrument. 

The  three  great  families  of  which  we  have  spoken 
were  never  united  as  separate  political  organisms. 
Even  contiguous  members  of  the  same  family  were 
often  independent  of  one  another.  The  colonies  also 
were  self-governing.  Owing  to  the  configuration  of 
the  Grecian  peninsula  its  inhabitants  were  cut  up  into 
numerous  separa'te  communities  of  liberty-loving  folk, 
shut  off  from  each  other  by  mountain  ranges  and 
branches  of  the  sea.  The  result  was  a  large  number 
of  little  governments,  some  democratic,  some  oli- 
garchical, all  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  liberty  and 
independence,  furnished  by  nature  with  the  best  of 
fortifications  for  self-defense,  and  each  determined 
to  work  out  its  own  problem  of  polity  and  society  for 
itself.  Constantly  quarreling  with  one  another,  the 
larger  states  trying  to  absorb  the  smaller  and  aspiring 


lo  Homer  to  Theocritus 

each  to  the  honor  of  being  the  acknowledged  leader  of 
all  the  Greeks,  they  yet  opposed  an  almost  united 
front  to  the  barbarians  in  national  crises.  At  the 
same  time  the  states  of  Asia  Minor  were  always 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Persian  Empire,  either  as 
tributary  subjects  or  else  fighting  an  unequal  contest 
for  independence;  while  in  Sicily  and  Italy  tyrants 
succeeded  in  establishing  themselves  for  a  longer 
period  than  elsewhere.  This  great  diversity  of  social 
and  political  conditions  was  naturally  not  without  its 
influence  upon  the  literary  productions  of  the  various 
states,  and  in  each  state  the  constant  political  vicis- 
situdes were  in  turn  reflected  in  its  literature.  In 
this  respect  the  literature  of  Greece  presents  a  much 
more  complex  problem  for  the  student  than  that  of 
Rome,  where  for  centuries  every  notable  literary  pro- 
duction emanated  from  the  capital  itself. 

Foremost  among  the  influences  which  helped  to 
mould  the  Greek  race,  giving  to  all  of  its  members 
certain  common  characteristics  and  ideals  and  to  each 
member  its  own  distinctive  individuality,  we  must 
consider  the  land  in  which  it  lived.  Never  was 
a  gifted  people  more  fortunate  in  its  habitation.  By 
reason  of  its  latitude,  Greece  has  a  southern  climate; 
and  yet  the  mountains,  everywhere  dominating  the 
plains,  temper  the  warm  air  and  instill  a  northern 
vigor.  In  the  low  valleys  and  on  the  islands  the  palm 
and  pomegranate  flourish,  while  on  the  hills  are  found 
the  hardy  northern  cereals,  and  still  higher  up  the 
pine  and  the  fir.  No  spot  on  the  mainland  is  more 
than  forty  miles  from  the  sea,  which  furnishes  an  easy 
means  of  communication  between  the  various  districts 
and  with  the  outside  world.     The  mountains  and  the 


Introductory  ii 

sea — these  are  the  two  leading  facts  in  the  geography 
of  Greece.  Add  to  these  the  remarkable  clearness 
and  brilliancy  of  the  atmosphere  and  the  exceptional 
beauty  and  variety  of  the  scenery,  and  we  have  at 
*once  the  key  to  the  understanding  of  many  things  not 
only  in  the  history  of  the  Greek  people,  but  also  in  the 
wonderful  literature  which  they  produced. 

Greek  literature  reveals,  especially  in  the  poets, 
a  profound  and  intimate  sympathy  with  nature.  The 
Greek  lived  in  the  open  air,  the  inhabitant  of  the 
city  no  less  than  the  countryman.  He  was  a  keen 
and  discriminating  observer,  and  none  of  nature's 
moods  nor  the  significance  of  the  phenomena  of  life 
about  him,  whether  animate  or  inanimate,  escaped 
him.  Nature  was  not  with  him  an  object  of  conscious 
study  and  contemplation,  as  with  us,  but  rather  a  daily 
companion,  an  intimate  friend.  Doubtless  the  pas- 
sionate love  of  the  beautiful,  which  the  Greeks  pos- 
sessed to  a  greater  extent  than  any  other  people,  was 
inspired  by  the  exceptionally  beautiful  surroundings 
in  which  they  lived. 

In  studying  the  Greek  literature  we  must  constantly 
bear  in  mind  a  fundamental  difference  between  it  and 
other  literatures  in  the  means  by  which  an  author's 
works  were  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the  public. 
Almost  the  whole  body  of  classical  Greek  literature 
was  presented  to  a  hearing,  not  to  a  reading,  public. 
The  art  of  writing  was  known  in  Greece  certainly  as 
early  as  the  eighth  century,  but  at  this  early  time  the 
materials  employed  were  stone  and  other  hard  mate- 
rials. Even  in  the  age  of  Pericles,  when  we  first  hear 
of  libraries,  it  is  doubtful  if  books  could  be  made  with 
sufficient  ease   and   cheapness  to  enable  any  but  the 


12  Homer  to  Theocritus 

few  to  buy  them.  The  Homeric  poems  were  at  first 
chanted  by  bards  at  the  courts  of  the  chieftains,  and 
were  probably  not  committed  to  writing  until  long 
after  the  period  of  epic  poetry  had  passed.  The 
songs  of  the  lyric  poet  were  sung  by  the  poet  himself 
to  his  friends,  or  by  choruses  to  a  larger  public.  The 
drama  was,  of  course,  performed  in  the  theatre,  and 
in  this  way  alone  became  familiar  to  the  people.  The 
tragedy  composed  with  a  view  to  being  read,  not 
acted,  is  a  phenomenon  which  occurs  only  after  the 
period  of  the  decline  had  set  in.  So  it  was  with  early 
prose  writing  also.  Herodotus  recited  a  part  of  his 
history  first  at  the  Olympic  festival.  Oratory  was 
necessarily  oral.  In  short,  we  may  safely  say  that 
there  was  no  reading  public,  as  we  understand  the 
term,  before  the  time  of  Plato.  After  these  first  oral 
publications,  the  great  works  of  epic  and  lyric  poetry 
became  known  throughout  the  Greek  world  by  means 
of  travelers  or  traveling  minstrels  and  choruses. 
Without  doubt  this  direct  contact  of  the  people  with 
the  author  not  only  quickened  the  minds  of  the  peo- 
ple and  cultivated  their  taste,  but  also  reacted  pow- 
erfully upon  the  author  himself,  and  thus  hastened 
the  progress  toward  perfection. 

For  almost  three  thousand  years  the  Greek  peo- 
ple have  never  ceased  to  have  a  literature  of  their 
own.  The  Greeks  of  to-day  not  only  have  a  consid- 
erable body  of  popular  poetry,  but  boast  of  a  goodly 
and  growing  number  of  writers  of  no  mean  ability, 
both  in  prose  and  in  poetry.  During  the  Byzantine 
period — that  is,  from  the  time  of  the  Emperor  Justin- 
ian to  the  fall  of  Constantinople  (529  to  i453)^Greek 
letters  flourished,  though  few  great  works  were  pro- 


Introductory  13 

duced.  It  is  our  purpose  here  to  study  only  the  liter- 
ature of  ancient  Greece,  and  principally  that  of  the 
classical  period — that  is,  to  the  destruction  of  Greek 
liberty  by  Alexander.  The  ancient  period  naturally 
falls  into  five  great  periods:  (i)  the  Age  of  Epic 
Poetry,  from  Homer  to  the  end  of  the  eighth  century; 
(2)  the  Age  of  Lyric  Poetry,  the  seventh,  sixth,  and 
part  of  the  fifth  centuries;  (3)  the  Attic  Period,  to 
the  conquests  of  Alexander;  (4),  the  Alexandrine 
Age,  down  to  the  Roman  conquest;  (5)  the  Roman 
Age,  to  the  time  of  Justinian.  The  first  three  of 
these  five  periods  come  more  especially  within  the 
scope  of  this  book.  It  is  fitting  that  we  should  devote 
the  larger  part  of  our  attention  to  poetry,  which  to-day 
claims  the  larger  share  of  our  interest  and  admiration. 


CHAPTER   II 

EPIC    POETRY.       INTRODUCTION    TO    THE   ILIAD 

le  Earliest  Literature  of  Europe  — Precursors  of  the  Epic 
—  Legendary  Bards  —  The  Marriage  Hymn  —  The  Dirge- 
Secular  Tendency  of  Religious  Poetry— The  Minstrel- 
Minstrel  Themes  in  Homer— The  Poets  of  the  Iliad  and 
Odyssey —  ^2i\.wx2\  and  Literary  Epics— The  Trojan  War 
before  the  Iliad— The  Marriage  of  Peleus  and  Thetis  — 
The  Apple  of  Discord— The  Judgment  of  Paris  — The 
Rape  of  Helen— The  Summoning  of  the  Greek  Chieftains 
— The  First  Years  of  the  Siege  —  The  Story  of  the  Iliad- 
Theme,  the  Wrath  of  Achilles  —  Kx\.d\y%\%  of  Book  L 

At  the  very  threshold  of  Greek  literature  stand  the 
o  majestic  poems  which  for  almost  three  thousand 
ars  have  commanded  the  admiration  of  the  world — 
2  Iliad  and  Odyssey  of  Homer.  The  literature  of 
irope  as  well  as  of  Greece  begins  with  these  two 
ems,  which  for  centuries  were  at  once  the  Bible  and 
2  Milton  of  the  Greek  people.  Although  of  very 
rly  origin,  composed  long  before  writing  was  em- 
)yed  for  literary  purposes,  they  are  not  the  crude 
Dductions  of  a  primitive  people,  like  the  early  epics 

other  races,  but  are  extended  works  of  a  highly 
lished  art,  reflecting  an  advanced  stage  of  civiliza- 
m.  This  is  a  phenomenon,  without  parallel  else- 
lere,  which  invites  the  student  to  the  interesting 
t  complicated  problem  of  their  origin.  It  is  t-he 
ique  distinction  of  the  Homeric  poems,  however,  as 
mpared  with  the  earliest  literature  of  other  peoples, 
it,  in  spite  of  the  multitude  of  recondite  questions 


Epic  Poetry.     Introduction  to  the  Iliad      15 

concerning  their  authorship  and  orginal  form  which 
have  occupied  the  scholar,  the  reader  who  wishes 
merely  to  enjoy  them  as  works  of  literature  has  little 
need  of  learned  commentary  or  exposition.  The 
heroic  deeds  and  marvelous  adventures  of  which 
Homer  has  to  tell  are  simply  told.  The  poems  are 
complete  narratives  in  themselves,  and  in  the  main 
supply  their  own  setting  as  regards  persons,  situa- 
tions, and  environment.  Most  of  the  books  which^ 
have  been  written  about  Homer  have  been  written  out 
of  Homer  himself.  The  research  and  exploration  of; 
recent  times  have,  it  is  true,  shed  a  flood  of  light  upoR; 
the  civilization  of  the  Homeric  age,  but  they  have 
added  comparatively  little  to  our  knowledge  of  th^ 
Homeric  poems  as  works  of  literature,  except  in  dem-! 
onstrating  that  the  story  of  the  Trojan  war  is  not; 
entirely  the  creation  of  a  poet's  fancy. 

There  are  no  remains  of  a  Greek  literature  befor^ 
Homer.  Even  the  Greeks  of  the  classical  period  pos-^ 
sessed  nothing  earlier  than  the  Iliad.  It  is  impossible 
to  suppose,  however,  that  poems  so  perfect  as  works! 
of  art  could  have  come  into  being  without  forerun- 
ners. There  must  have  been  bards  before  Homer,j 
just  as  certainly  as  there  were  sculptors  before- 
Pheidias.  The  very  perfection  of  the  Parthenon  friezei 
presupposes  the  practice  of  carving  in  marble  for  gen-j 
erations,  even  if  we  had  no  earlier  remains  of  Greeki 
sculpture.  Greek  legend  recognizes  this  necessity,  fori 
it  records  the  names  of  certain  mythical  bards,  such, 
as  Orpheus,  Musseus,  and  Olympus,  servants  of  the! 
Muses,  who,  in  the  remote  past — an  indefinite  time! 
before  Homer — sang  in  honor  of  the  gods.  The  earli* 
est  literature  of  the  Indo-European  race  to  which  we^ 


1 6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

belong,  the  Vedas  of  the  early  Hindus,  consist  mainly 
of  short  hymns,  of  praise  or  entreaty,  to  the  early 
Indian  gods.  So,  long  before  Homer,  in  the  child- 
hood of  the  Greek  race,  there  were  doubtless  poets 
who  voiced  the  religious  feelings  of  the  people  and 
contributed  their  share  to  the  development  of  the 
poetic  art  which  the  authors  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey 
inherited  in  its  perfected  form. 

The  most  important  events  of  family  life  also 
called  for  celebration  in  song.  At  the  marriage  of  the 
mortal  Peleus  with  the  goddess  Thetis,  we  are  told, 
the  Muses  themselves  sang  the  wedding  hymn.  In 
the  description  of  the  shield  of  Achilles  which  is  given 
in  the  Iliad  (i8,  493  ff.),  the  poet  says  that  Hephaestus 
^'fashioned  thereon  two  fair  cities  of  mortal  men.  In 
the  one  were  espousals  and  marriage  feasts,  and 
beneath  the  blaze  of  torches  they  were  leading  the 
brides  from  their  chambers  through  the  city,  and  loud 
arose  the  bridal  song.  And  young  men  were  whirling 
in  the  dance,  and  among  them  flutes  and  viols 
sounded  high;  and  the  women  standing  each  at  her 
door  were  marveling."  Not  less  old  than  the  mar- 
riage hymn  is  the  dirge  for  the  dead.  One  of  the 
scenes  depicted  on  the  shield  of  Achilles  was  a  vine- 
yard, in  which  maidens  and  youths  were  plucking  the 
clusters  of  grapes.  "In  the  midst  of  them  a  boy  made 
pleasant  music  on  a  clear-toned  viol,  and  sang  thereto 
a  sweet  Linos-song  with  delicate  voice;  while  the 
rest  with  feet  falling  together  kept  time  with  the  music 
and  song."  The  Linos-song  was  one  of  the  earliest 
known  to  the  Greeks,  and  is  thought  to  be  a  lament 
for  the  departing  summer,  vhich  had  been  personified 
as  a  young  boy.    Linos.     Although  a  dirge,    it  had 


Epic  Poetry.      Introduction  to  the  Iliad      17 

now  become  "a  sweet  song"  for  the  youth  to  sing  at 
the  joyous  vintage.  These  early  dirges,  which  had 
taken  their  place  among  the  poetry  of  the  people, 
doubtless  suggested  the  form  of  the  funeral  chant 
over  the  body  of  the  dead,  the  words  of  which  were 
ncessarily  improvised.  When  the  body  of  Hector  was 
brought  back  to  Troy  by  his  father,  Priam,  "they  laid 
him  upon  a  fretted  bed,  and  set  beside  him  minstrels, 
leaders  of  the  dirge,  who  wailed  a  mournful  lay, 
while  the  women  made  moan  with  them"  {Iliad,  24, 
722  ff.).  Then  Hector's  wife,  Andromache,  his 
mother,  Hecabe,  and  Helen,  the  wife  of  his  brother 
Paris,  stepped  forward  one  after  another  and  sang  her 
lament.  When  the  hero  Achilles  was  slain  in  battle, 
the  chanting  of  dirges  lasted  seventeen  days.  The 
shade  of  Agamemnon  thus  speaks  to  the  shade  of 
'Achilles  in  Hades  {Odyssey,  24,  24  ff.):  '*And  forth 
from  the  sea  came  thy  mother  with  the  deathless 
maidens  of  the  waters,  when  they  heard  the  tidings; 
and  a  wonderful  wailing  rose  over  the  deep,  and  trem- 
bling fell  on  the  limbs  of  all  the  Achseans.  .  .  Then 
round  thee  stood  the  daughters  of  the  ancient  one 
of  the  sea,  holding  a  pitiful  lament,  and  they  clad 
thee  about  in  raiment  incorruptible.  And  all  the 
nine  Muses,  one  to  the  other  replying,  with  sweet 
voices  began  the  dirge;  then  thou  wouldst  not  have 
seen  an  Argive  but  wept  as  mightily  rose  up  the  clear 
chant." 

We  have  seen,  then,  that  before  Homer  the  Greeks 
possessed  several  varieties  of  poetry  which  assumed 
a  more  or  less  literary  form.  Those  which  we  have 
considered  were  orginally  all  of  a  religious  nature;  for 
even  the  marriage  hymns  and  the  dirge  grew  out  of 


1 8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

religious  observances.  But,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
Linos-song,  some  of  these  varieties  had  early  acquired 
a  popular  form.  The  constant  tendency  was  to  divest 
religious  poetry  of  its  liturgical  character.  The 
Homeric  poems  record  the  existence  before  Homer  of 
another  class  of  poetry,  which  possesses  barely  a  trace 
of  the  religious  origin  from  which  it  doubtless 
sprung — the  stories  of  the  exploits  of  heroes.  It  is  of 
this  class  of  poetry  that  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey 
give  us  the  best  picture. 

The  minstrels  form  a  distinct  class  in  Homeric  soci- 
ety. As  servants  of  the  Muses  they  enjoy  especial 
privileges,  and  receive  at  the  hands  of  the  chieftains 
exceptional  honor  and  respect.  When  Agamemnon 
departed  for  Troy,  he  intrusted  his  household  to  the 
care  of  a  minstrel,  and  Odysseus,  after  slaying  all  the 
suitors,  spares  the  life  of  Phemius,  who  had  been 
associated  with  the  suitors,  on  the  plea  that  "god  had 
put  into  his  heart  all  manner  of  lays."  When  guests 
are  gathered  together  in  the  halls  of  a  chieftain,  min- 
strels sing  to  them.  "Song  and  dance,  these  are  the 
accompaniments  of  the  feast."  Odysseus,  after  his 
entertainment  at  the  palace  of  King  Alcinous,  where 
he  had  heard  the  bard  Demodocus,  says:  "King 
Alcinous,  most  notable  of  all  the  people,  verily  it  is 
a  good  thing  to  list  to  a  minstrel  such  as  this  one,  like 
to  the  gods  in  voice.  Nay,  as  for  me,  I  say  that  there 
is  no  more  gracious  or  perfect  delight  than  when 
a  whole  people  makes  merry,  and  the  men  sit  orderly 
at  feast  in  the  halls  and  listen  to  the  singer,  and  the 
tables  beside  them  are  laden  with  bread  and  flesh,  and 
a  wine-bearer,  drawing  the  wine,  serves  it  round  and 
pours  it  into  the  cups.     This  seems  to  me  wellnigh 


Epic  Poetry.      Introduction  to  the  Iliad      19 

the  fairest  thing  in  the  world."  (Odysseyy  9,  2  ff.) 
By  his  choice  of  a  theme  and  by  his  spirited  render- 
ing of  it  the  bard  could  affect  his  hearers  with  either 
joy  or  sorrow  at  will.  The  audience  looked  upon  him 
as  really  inspired.  Alcinous  says  of  Demodocus: 
"The  god  hath  given  minstrelsy  to  him  as  to  none 
other,  to  make  men  glad  in  what  way  soever  his  spirit 
stirs  him  to  sing."  Again,  he  is  called  "the  beloved 
minstrel,  whom  the  Muse  loved  dearly,  and  she  gave 
him  both  good  and  evil;  of  his  sight  she  reft  him,  but 
granted  him  sweet  song."  When  the  swineherd 
Eumaeus  wishes  to  impress  upon  Penelope  the  charms 
of  the  stranger  who  proves  afterward  to  be  Odysseus, 
he  says:  "Even  as  when  a  man  gazes  upon  a  singer, 
whom  the  gods  have  taught  to  sing  words  of  yearning 
joy  to  mortals,  and  they  have  a  ceaseless  desire  to 
hear  him,  so  long  as  he  will  sing,  even  so  he  charmed 
me." 

In  the  //iad,  Achilles,  when  refraining  from  warfare 
on  account  of  his  quarrel  with  Agamemnon,  is  seen 
by  his  tent  "taking  his  pleasure  of  a  loud  lyre. 
Therein  he  was  delighting  his  soul  and  singing  the 
glories  of  heroes."  Traces  are  found  of  such  lays  on 
the  Labors  of  Heracles  and  on  the  Quest  of  the  Golden 
Fleece.  The  minstrels  in  the  Odyssey  also  sing  of  the 
"glorious  deeds  of  men,"  but  we  are  often  told  pre- 
cisely what  the  subject  of  the  song  is.  On  one  occa- 
sion it  is  "the  loves  of  Ares  and  Aphrodite."  At 
other  times  it  is  of  the  exploits  and  adventures  con- 
nected with  the  Trojan  war.  Phemius  sang  among 
the  suitors  "of  the  pitiful  return  of  the  Achaeans  that 
Pallas  Athene  laid  on  them  as  they  came  forth  from 
Troy."     Penelope  overhears  the  tale,  which  reminds 


20  Homer  to  Theocritus 

her  of  the  long  absence  of  her  husband;  and  weeping 
she  spake  unto  the  minstrel:  '*Phemius,  since  thou 
knowest  many  other  charms  for  mortals,  deeds  of  men 
and  gods,  which  bards  rehearse,  some  one  of  these  do 
thou  sing  as  thou  sittest  by  them,  and  let  them  drink 
their  wine  in  silence;  but  cease  from  this  pitiful  strain 
that  ever  wastes  my  heart  within  my  breast,  since  to 
me,  above  all  women,  hath  come  a  sorrow  comfort- 
less."  Her  son  Telemachus,  however,  rebukes  her, 
saying:  "As  for  him,  it  is  no  blame  if  he  sings  the 
ill-faring  of  the  Danaans;  for  men  always  prize  that 
song  the  most  which  rings  newest  in  their  ears." 
{Odyssey,  i,  325  ff.)  Again,  in  the  palace  of  Alcinous, 
when  Odysseus  was  present,  "the  Muse  stirred  the 
minstrel  (Demodocus)  to  sing  the  songs  of  famous 
men,  even  that  lay  whereof  the  fame  had  then  reached 
the  wide  heaven — namely,  the  quarrel  between  Odys- 
seus and  Achilles."  Odysseus  drew  his  cloak  over 
his  head  and  wept.  Later  on,  Odysseus  summons 
Demodocus,  and  says:  "Come  now,  change  thy  strain, 
and  sing  of  the  fashioning  of  the  horse  of  wood, 
even  the  guileful  thing  that  godly  Odysseus  led  up  into 
the  citadel  when  he  had  laden  it  with  the  men  who 
wasted  Ilios. "     And  Demodocus  is  able  to  comply. 

These  passages  are  of  especial  interest  because  of 
the  fact  that  the  themes  of  which  the  minstrels  sang 
are  precisely  of  the  kind  which  Homer  weaves 
together  to  form  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey^  although 
some  of  the  songs,  such  as  the  story  of  the  quarrel 
of  Achilles  and  Odysseus  and  the  stratagem  of  the 
wooden  horse,  are  not  actually  found  in  the  Iliad 
itself.  From  the  passages  which  we  have  cited  several 
conclusions  may   be    drawn    on    the    subject    of    pre- 


Epic  Poetry.      Introduction  to  the  Iliad     21 

Homeric  poetry:  (i)  Besides  the  short  poems  of  a 
religious  nature,  such  as  the  hymns  to  the  gods  and 
the  responses  of  the  oracles,  there  was  current  in  the 
Greek  world  a  large  number  of  short  poems  that  be- 
longed more  especially  to  domestic  life — e.  g.^  mar- 
riage chants  and  dirges;  (2)  a  professional  class  of 
minstrels  existed,  whose  repertoires  included  songs 
on  many  themes,  imaginary  incidents  in  the  lives  of 
the  gods,  and  the  exploits  of  heroic  men;  (3)  the 
exceptional  honor  shown  to  the  minstrels  and  the 
eagerness  of  the  people  for  new  songs  would  encour- 
age the  production  of  new  poems  on  the  models  of 
those  already  popular;  (4)  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  d^ve. 
made  up  of  a  great  many  such  songs  as  those  which 
the  minstrels  sang;  (5)  the  perfection  of  the  poetic  art 
of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  is  explained  by  the  existence 
in  Greece  of  minstrel  poets  long  before  these  poems 
were  composed ;  (6)  the  poets  of  the  Iliad  and  the 
Odyssey  were  either  the  greatest  of  the  minstrel  poets, 
producing  original  poems  of  large  compass  in  the 
manner  of  the  earlier  short  lays,  or  else  they  were 
great  collectors  of  the  previously  existing  songs, 
which  they  put  together  to  form  a  consistent  whole, 
adding  only  the  narrative  needed  to  connect  the 
separate  lays.  This  is  a  part  of  the  Homeric  question 
which  will  be  discussed  later  on. 

The  Iliad  and  Odyssey  are  epic  poems.  The  Greek 
word  epos^  from  which  the  adjective  "epic"  is  derived, 
meant  orginally  a  "word"  or  "saying,"  and  in  the 
plural  was  applied  to  the  sayings  in  verse,  such  as  the 
oracles,  or  the  lays  of  the  minstrels.  Since  these 
were  composed  in  the  hexameter  verse,  the  measure 
in  which  Longfellow's  Evangeline  is  written,  and  were 


11  Homer  to  Theocritus 

recited  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  lyre,  and  not 
"sung"  in  the  modern  sense,  epic  poetry  came  to  mean 
narrative  poetry  in  hexameter  verse,  as  opposed  to 
the  melic  or  song  poetry,  and  the  term  was  applied 
to  the  longer  poems  of  this  kind.  According  to  Aris- 
totle, an  epic  poem  should  have  a  dignified  theme  and 
should  form  a  consistent  organic  whole.  This 
means  that  it  cannot  consist  of  a  series  of  discon- 
nected narratives  with  no  leading  thought  running 
from  beginning  to  end.  A  mere  chronicle  in  verse 
could  not  constitute  an  epic  poem.  Every  part  of  the 
narrative  must  conduce  to  the  completion  of  the  main 
theme. 

The  poems  of  Homer  satisfy  this  definition  of  epic 
poetry  no  less  than  the  great  epics  since  written,  as, 
for  example,  Vergil's  Alneid  and  Milton's  Paradise 
Lost.  But  there  is  one  fundamental  difference  be- 
tween the  Homeric  and  the  later  epics.  The  differ- 
ence may  be  indicated  by  calling  the  Homeric  poems 
natural  epics,  and  the  ^neid  and  Paradise  Lost  literary 
epics.  Homer  tells  his  story  simply  and  for  its  own 
sake;  Milton  selects  a  noble  theme  and  marshals  all 
of  his  learning  to  embellish  it.  The  unsophisticated 
people  for  whom  Homer  sang  needed  to  know  only 
their  gods  and  their  heroes  to  understand  the  nar- 
rative; but  every  page  of  Milton  teems  with  allusions 
gathered  from  the  whole  world  of  literature  and  his- 
tory.     He  wrote  for  learned  readers. 

The  Iliad  is  a  narrative  of  only  a  single  episode  in 
the  Trojan  war.  The  action  of  the  Iliad  embraces 
altogether  only  fifty-one  days  in  the  tenth  year  of  the 
war.  The  story  of  the  events  which  precede  the  Iliad 
were  known  to  the  Greeks  through  another  early  epic 


Epic  Poetry.      Introduction  to  the  Iliad     23 

poem,  now  lost,  composed  after  the  Iliad^  in  the 
eighth  century  before  Christ.  It  was  entitled  the 
Cypria^  and  its  reputed  author  was  Stasinus  of  Cyprus. 
The  hero  of  the  poem  is  Paris.  The  story,  as  told  in 
the  Cypria^  is  briefly  as  follows: 

Zeus,  the  king  of  the  gods,  alarmed  at  the  increase 
of  men  upon  the  earth,  resolves  to  reduce  the  popula- 
tion. Now  both  he  and  his  brother  Poseidon,  god 
of  the  seas,  loved  the  beautiful  sea-nymph  Thetis. 
But  there  was  a  prophecy  which  foretold  that  Thetis 
should  have  a  son  who  would  prove  mightier  than  his 
father.  To  save  themselves  from  such  an  event, 
therefore,  it  was  agreed  that  Thetis  should  marry 
a  mortal,  Peleus,  king  of  Thessaly.  All  of  the  gods 
and  goddesses  were  bidden  to  the  wedding,  save  only 
Eris,  or  Discord.  But  Zeus  sends  her  also,  that  the 
quarrel  may  arise  that  shall  lead  to  the  Trojan  war. 
Now  Eris  casts  into  the  midst  of  the  wedding  guests 
a  golden  apple,  inscribed  "to  the  fairest."  Hera,  the 
wife  of  Zeus,  and  his  daughter  Athene,  goddess  of 
wisdom  and  prowess  in  warfare,  and  Aphrodite,  god- 
dess of  love,  all  claim  the  prize.  Zeus  commands 
;Hermes,  the  messenger  of  the  gods,  to  conduct  the 
three  goddesses  to  Mount  Ida,  where  Alexander  or 
Paris,  son  of  Priam,  king  of  Ilios  or  Troy,  was  tending 
his  flocks  as  a  shepherd,  quite  unaware  of  his  princely 
birth.  Paris  was  to  decide  the  dispute.^  The  god- 
desses accordingly  appeared  before  him,  each  display- 
ing her  charms  and  proposing  tempting  bribes.  Hera 
offered  the  sovereignty  of  Asia  and  great  riches; 
Athene,   great  glory  and  renown   in   war;  Aphrodite, 

'See  Tennyson's  description  of  the  Judgment  of  Paris  in  the  poem 
'(Enone,  named  for  the  first  wife  of  Paris. 


24  Homer  to  Theocritus  | 

the  fairest  of  all  women  for  his  wife.  The  decision  \ 
was  in  favor  of  Aphrodite,  who  accordingly  received  i 
the  golden  apple.  The  two  slighted  goddesses  con-  \ 
ceived  a  great  hatred  toward  Troy,  the  country  of  the  1 
umpire,  and  made  their  wrath  felt  heavily  upon  the  ; 
Trojans  during  the  war.  I 

Paris,  by  the  help  of  Aphrodite,  got  himself  j 
acknowledged  as  the  son  of  Priam,  equipped  a  fleet,  i 
and  sailed  to  Greece  in  search  of  the  fairest  among  i 
women.  He  was  hospitably  received  by  Menelaus,  i 
king  of  Sparta.  There,  in  the  absence  of  the  king,  in  j 
violation  of  the  sacred  laws  of  hospitality,  he  won  the  ] 
love  of  Helen,  the  king's  wife,  and  carried  her  back  to  \ 
Troy.  Now  Helen  was  not  only  the  queen  of  Menelaus,  \ 
but  also  the  daughter  of  Zeus  himself,  by  Leda,  wife  of  \ 
Tyndareus,  whom  the  king  of  the  gods  had  visited  in  j 
the  guise  of  a  swan.  All  the  princes  of  the  Achaeans  ■ 
had  wooed  her,  entering  into  a  solemn  compact  with  | 
each  other  that  they  would  all  defend  the  rights  of  i 
the  successful  suitor.  Accordingly  Menelaus  called  [ 
upon  the  other  leading  chieftains  and  upon  his  brother  1 
Agamemnon,  king  of  Mycenae,  the  most  powerful  of  1 
them  all,  to  help  him  avenge  the  wrong  and  bring  back 
Helen.  With  some  difficulty  they  are  induced  to  join  \ 
in  the  adventure,  and  at  last,  under  the  chief  com- 1 
mand  of  Agamemnon,  assemble  at  Aulis  in  Bceotia  j 
with  a  fleet  of  over  a  thousand  ships.  The  most  ; 
prominent  chieftains,  after  Agamemnon  and  Menelaus,  -J 
were  Odysseus,  king  of  Ithaca;  Nestor,  king  of  < 
Pylos;  Achilles  and  his  chosen  friend,  Patroclus  of) 
Hellas;  Idomeneus  of  Crete;  Diomedes  of  Argos,  and  \ 
Ajax,  son  of  Telamon,  of  Salamis.  The  fleet  is  long  ■ 
delayed    by    adverse    winds    sent    by   Artemis,    until  j 


Epic  Poetry.     Introduction  to  the  Iliad     25 

Agamemnon  consents  to  the  sacrifice  of  his  daughter 
Iphigeneia,  to  propitiate  the  wrath  of  the  goddess. 
The  start  is  made,  and  at  length,  after  some  misad- 
ventures, of  which  the  most  serious  was  the  abandon- 
ment on  the  isle  of  Lemnos  of  Philoctetes,  the  pos- 
sessor of  the  bow  and  unerring  arrows  of  Heracles, 
the  fleet  reaches  the  shores  of  the  Hellespont  at  the 
foot  of  the  plain  of  Troy.  The  restoration  of  Helen 
is  demanded  of  the  Trojans,  who  refuse.  v 

The  siege  of  Ilios'  now  begins.  But  it  was  not 
a  close  investment.  The  Greeks  were  encamped  upon 
the  beach  beside  their  ships,  which  were  drawn  up 
upon  the  shore.  The  citadel,  in  which  the  Trojans 
were  obliged  to  confine  themselves,  owing  to  the 
prowess  of  Achilles,  was  about  three  miles  inland. 
There  were  occasional  attacks  and  sallies.  But  the 
Greeks  seem  mainly  to  have  occupied  themselves  with 
sweeping  the  surrounding  country  for  provisions. 
Detachments  were  continually  sent  out  under  some 
chieftain  to  sack  the  small  towns  and  to  bring  in  the 
booty,  whether  of  men  or  supplies,  to  be  divided 
among  the  army.  It  was  in  one  of  these  raids  that 
Achilles,  son  of  Peleus  and  Thetis,  and  king  of  the 
Myrmidons,  ravaged  the  town  of  Thebes,  and  brought 
back  among  the  spoils  the  two  beautiful  maidens 
Chryseis  and  Briseis.  The  former  was  assigned  to 
Agamemnon  to  be  his  handmaiden,  the  latter  to 
Achilles.  So  far  the  Cypria  and  the  first  nine  years  of 
the  war.  Chryseis  proves  to  be  the  daughter  of  Chry- 
ses,  priest  of  Apollo.  The  god  avenges  the  insult  to 
his   priest   by   sending   a   pestilence   upon   the   Greek 

^In  Homer,  the  citadel  of  Priam,  the  chief  city  of  his  kingdom,  is  called 
llios,  known  to  the  Romans  as  Ilium,  and  the  country  is  Troia,  "Troy-land." 
The  latter  name  came  io  be  used  for  the  city  also. 


26  Homer  to  Theocritus 

army.  From  this  circumstance  arises  the  quarrel 
between  Agamemnon  and  Achilles  with  which  the 
Iliad  opens. 

The  traditional  title  of  the  poem  does  not  quite 
accurately  give  its  theme,  Ilias^  in  English  Iliad.^ 
properly  means  the  "Story  of  Ilios. "  But  the  real 
theme  is  the  Wrath  of  Achilles  and  is  given  in  the 
first  verse  of  the  poem,  in  the  invocation  to  the  Muse: 

O  goddess!  sing  the  wrath  of  Peleus'  son, 
Achilles,  sing  the  deadly  wrath  that  brought 
Woes  numberless  upon  the  Greeks,  and  swept 
To  Hades  many  a  valiant  soul,  and  gave 
Their  limbs  a  prey  to  dogs  and  birds  of  air,— - 
For  so  had  Jove'  appointed, — from  the  time 
When  the  two  chiefs,  Atrides,^  king  of  men, 
And  great  Achilles,  parted  first  as  foes. 

I,  1-8.  Bryant. 

It  is  only  with  this  conception  of  the  subject  of  the 
Iliad  that  the  poem  has  unity.  Through  Achilles' 
wrath  the  Greeks  were  obliged  to  fight  without  his 
aid,  and  could  not  win.  The  death  of  Patroclus 
ensued.  Then,  through  love  of  his  friend,  the  wrath 
of  Achilles  is  directed  against  the  Trojans.  With 
Hector's  death  Patroclus  is  avenged.  This  is  the 
story,  and  throughout  the  poem  our  interest  centers 

^Jove,  or  Tupiter,  the  Latin  form  of  Zeus.  Most  of  the  standard  trans- 
lations give  tne  Latin  instead  of  the  Greek  names  of  the  gods,  though  they 
are  not  always  really  equivalent.  This  would  now  be  considered  a  fault, 
but  was  the  prevailing  custom  a  generation  ago.  The  most  common  equiv- 
alents are:  Neptune  for  Poseidon;  Pluto  for  Hades;  Vulcan  for  Hephses- 
tus;  Juno  for  Hera;  Minerva  for  Athene;  Venus  for  Aphrodite;  Mars  for 
Ares;  Diana  for  Artemis;  Mercury  for  Hermes;  Saturn  for  Cronus;  Latona 
for  Leto.  * 

*Atrides  (more  properly  Atreides),  i.e.,  son  of  Atreus,  Agamemnon,  It 
might  also  mean  Menelaus,  the  brother  of  Agamemnon.  The  ending  "-ides" 
in  Greek  signifies  "son  of."  So  Peleides  =  Achilles,  son  of  Peleus;  Tydeides 
=  Diomedes,  son  of  Tydeus,  etc.  Sometimes  it  may  mean  "descendant  of"; 
e.g.,  Alceides  =  Heracles,  whose  grandfather  was  Alcseus,  and  i^acid^s  =; 
Achilles,  son  of  Peleus,  son  of  ./Eacu?. 


Epic  Poetry.      Introduction  to  the  Iliad      27 

in  the  hero  Achilles,  vehement  in  love  as  in  hate, 
whether  he  is  sulking  in  his  tent  or  fighting  in  the 
foremost  ranks.  But  there  are  many  incidents  in  an 
extended  epic  like  this,  and  not  all  of  them  attach 
themselves  closely  to  the  leading  theme. 

The  wrath  of  Achilles,  then,  arising  from  his  quar- 
rel with  Agamemnon,  was  the  cause  of  the  woes  of 
the  Greeks.  The  account  of  the  origin  of  the  quarrel 
occupies  about  one-half  of  the  first  book.^ 

Which  of  the  gods  put  strife  between  the  chiefs, 
That  they  should  thus  contend?     Latona's  son 
And  Jove's.     Incensed  against  the  king  he  bade 
A  deadly  pestilence  appear  among 
The  army,  and  the  men  were  perishing. 
For  Atreus'  son  with  insult  had  received 
Chryses  the  priest,  who  to  the  Grecian  fleet 
Came  to  redeem  his  daughter,  offering 
Uncounted  ransom.     In  his  hand  he  bore 
The  fillets  of  Apollo,  archer-god. 
Upon  the  golden  sceptre,  and  he  sued 
To  all  the  Greeks,  but  chiefly  to  the  sons 
Of  Atreus,  the  two  leaders  of  the  host: — 

"Ye  sons  of  Atreus,  and  ye  other  chiefs, 
Well-greaved  Achaeans,  may  the  gods  who  dwell 
Upon  Olympus  give  you  to  o'erthrow 
The  city  of  Priam  and  in  safety  reach 
Your  homes;  but  give  me  my  beloved  child. 
And  take  her  ransom,  honoring  him  who  sends 
His  arrows  far,  Apollo,  son  of  Jove." 

Then  all  the  other  Greeks,  applauding,  bade 
Revere  the  priest  and  take  the  liberal  gifts 
He  offered,  but  the  counsel  did  not  please 
Atrides  Agamemnon;  he  dismissed 
The  priest  with  scorn,  and  added  threatening  words: — 

»The  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey  were  divided  each  into  twenty-four  books 
by  an  Alexandrian  scholar  in  the  third  century  before  Christ.  The  divisiops 
are  often  arbitrary  and  were  made  simply  for  convenience, 


28  Homer  to  Theocritus 

"  Old  man,  let  me  not  find  thee  loitering  here 
Beside  the  roomy  ships,  or  coming  back 
Hereafter,  lest  the  fillet  thou  dost  bear 
And  sceptre  of  thy  god  protect  thee  not. 
This  maiden  I  release  not  till  old  age 
Shall  overtake  her  in  my  Argive  home, 
Far  from  her  native  country,  where  her  hand 
Shall  throw  the  shuttle  and  shall  dress  my  couch. 
Go,  chafe  me  not,  if  thou  wouldst  safely  go." 

I,  9-42.  Bryant. 

The  old  man  obeyed,  and  walked  silently  along  the 
shore  of  the  loud-sounding  sea,  and  prayed  aloud  to 
Apollo.     And  Phoebus  Apollo  heard  him. 

Down  he  came, 
Down  from  the  summit  of  the  Olympian  mount, 
Wrathful  in  heart;  his  shoulders  bore  the  bow 
And  hollow  quiver;  there  the  arrows  rang 
Upon  the  shoulders  of  the  angry  god, 
As  on  he  moved.     He  came  as  comes  the  night, 
And,  seated  from  the  ships  aloof,  sent  forth 
An  arrow;  terrible  was  heard  the  clang 
Of  that  resplendent  bow.    At  first  he  smote 
The  mules  and  the  swift  dogs,  and  then  on  man 
He  turned  the  deadly  arrow.    All  around 
Glared  evermore  the  frequent  funeral  piles. 
Nine  days  already  had  his  shafts  been  showered 
Among  the  host,  and  now,  upon  the  tenth,  * 

Achilles  called  the  people  of  the  camp 
To  council. 

I,  57-72.  Bryant. 

Now  when  they  were  all  assembled,  Achilles,  fleet 
of  foot,  arose,  and  proposed  that  they  should  inquire 
of  some  soothsayer  or  priest  to  tell  them  why  Apollo 
was  so  wroth  against  them.  Perchance  he  would 
accept  a  rich  sacrifice  and  take  away  the  pestilence. 
Then  spake  Calchas,  the  augur,  who  knew  both  things 


Epic  Poetry.      Introduction  to  the  Iliad      29 

that  were  and  that  should  be  and  that  had  been  be- 
fore:  "Achilles,  dear  to  Zeus,  thou  biddest  me  tell 
the  wrath  of  Apollo,  the  king  that  smiteth  afar. 
Therefore  will  I  speak,  but  do  thou  make  covenant 
with  me,  and  swear  that  verily  with  all  thy  heart  thou 
wilt  aid  me  both  by  word  and  deed.  For  of  a  truth 
I  deem  that  I  shall  provoke  one  that  ruleth  all  the 
Argives  with  might,  and  whom  the  Achaeans  obey." 
Achilles  thus  reassures  Calchas:  "Be  of  good  courage, 
and  speak  whatever  soothsaying  thou  knowest.  No 
man  while  I  live  and  behold  the  light  on  earth  shall 
lay  violent  hands  upon  thee  amid  the  hollow  ships;  no 
man  of  all  the  Danaans,  not  even  if  thou  mean 
Agamemnon,  that  now  avoweth  him  to  be  the  greatest 
far  of  the  Achaeans." 

Embolden'd  thus,  th'  unerring  prophet  spoke: 

"  Not  for  neglected  hecatombs  or  pray'rs, 
But  for  his  priest  whom  Agamemnon  scorn'd, 
Nor  took  his  ransom,  nor  his  child  restor'd; 
On  his  account  the  Far-destroyer  sends 
This  scourge  of  pestilence,  and  yet  will  send; 
Nor  shall  we  cease  his  heavy  hand  to  feel, 
Tijl  to  her  sire  we  give  the  bright-eyed  girl, 
Unbought,  unransom'd,  and  to  Chrysa's  shore 
A  solemn  hecatomb  despatch;  this  done. 
The  God,  appeas'd,  his  anger  may  remit." 

I,  108-118.  Derby. 

The  hero,  son  of  Atreus,  wide-ruling  Agamemnon, 
then  stood  up  before  them,  sore  displeased;  and  his 
dark  heart  within  him  was  greatly  filled  with  anger, 
and  his  eyes  were  like  flashing  fire.  He  calls  the  aged 
seer  a  prophet  of  evil,  praises  the  maid  Chryseis,  but 
agrees  to  give  her  up  to  save  his  people.  He  asks, 
however,    that  a   recompense    be   provided    for   him, 


30  Homer  to  Theocritus 

that  he  alone  of  all  the  Achaeans  be  not  left  without 
a  prize.  Achilles  springs  to  his  feet  and  reminds 
Agamemnon  that  all  the  spoil  taken  from  the  cap- 
tured towns  has  already  been  apportioned.  "Yield 
thou  the  damsel  to  the  god,  and  we  Achaeans  will  pay 
thee  back  threefold  and  fourfold  if  ever  Zeus  grant  us 
to  sack  the  well-walled  city  of  Troy."  But  Agamem- 
non suspects  the  motives  of  Achilles,  and  answers  thus: 

"Think  not,  Achilles,  valiant  though  thou  art 
In  fight,  and  godlike,  to  defraud  me  thus; 
Thou  shalt  not  so  persuade  me,  nor  o'erreach. 
Think'st  thou  to  keep  thy  portion  of  the  spoil, 
While  I  with  empty  hands  sit  idly  down? 
The  bright-ey'd  girl  thou  bidd'st  me  to  restore; 
If  then  the  valiant  Greeks  for  me  seek  out 
Some  other  spoil,  some  compensation  just, 
'Tis  well:  if  not,  I  with  my  own  right  hand 
Will  from  some  other  chief,  from  thee  perchance. 
Or  Ajax,  or  Ulysses,  wrest  his  prey; 
And  woe  to  him  on  whomsoe'er  I  call!" 

I,  153-165.     Derby. 

Achilles,  stung  by  these  words,  indignantly  re- 
proaches Agamemnon.  The  wrongs  they  came  to 
avenge  upon  Troy  were  not  his  own,  but  those  of 
Menelaus.  "All  this  thou  reckonest  not,  nor  takest 
thought  thereof;  and  now  thou  threatenest  thyself  to 
take  my  meed  of  honor,  wherefor  I  travailed  much, 
and  the  sons  of  the  Achaeans  gave  it  me.  Never  win 
I  meed  like  unto  his,  when  the  Achaeans  sack  any  pop- 
ulous city  of  Trojan  men;  my  hands  bear  the  brunt 
of  furious  war,  but  when  the  apportioning  cometh, 
then  is  thy  meed  far  ampler,  and  I  betake  me  to  the 
ships  with  some  small  thing,  yet  mine  own,  when 
I   have   fought   to   weariness.      Now  will   I  depart  to 


Epic  Poetry.      Introduction  to  the  Iliad     31 

Phthia,  seeing  it  far  better  to  return  home  on  my 
beaked  ships;  nor  am  I  minded  here  in  dishonor  to 
draw  thee  thy  fill  of  riches  and  of  wealth." 

Him  answered  Agamemnon,  king  of  men: 
"Desert,  then,  if  thou  wilt;  I  ask  thee  not 
To  stay  for  me;  there  will  be  others  left 
To  do  me  honor  yet,  and,  best  of  all, 
The  all-providing  Jove  is  with  me  still. 
Thee  I  detest  the  most  of  all  the  men 
Ordained  by  him  to  govern  ;  thy  delight 
Is  in  contention,  war,  and  bloody  frays. 
If  thou  art  brave,  some  deity,  no  doubt. 
Has  thus  endowed  thee.     Hence  then  to  thy  home, 
With  all  thy  ships  and  men  !  there  domineer 
Over  thy  Myrmidons;^  I  heed  thee  not. 
Nor  care  I  for  thy  fury.     Thus,  in  turn, 
I  threaten  thee  ;  since  Phoebus  takes  away 
Chryseis,  I  will  send  her  in  my  ship 
And  with  my  friends,  and,  coming  to  thy  tent, 
Will  bear  away  the  fair-cheeked  maid,  thy  prize, 
Briseis,  that  thou  learn  how  far  I  stand 
Above  thee,  and  that  other  chiefs  may  fear 
To  measure  strength  with  me,  and  brave  my  power." 

I,  224-243.    Bryant. 

Achilles  lays  his  hand  to  his  sword,  doubting 
whether  he  shall  forthwith  slay  Agamemnon.  But 
Athene  came  to  him  from  heaven.  She  stood  beside 
him  and  caught  him  by  the  golden  hair,  visible  to  him 
alone,  and  of  the  rest  no  man  beheld  her.  She  prom- 
ises Achilles  that  if  he  will  stay  his  anger  goodly 
gifts  will  yet  come  to  him  by  reason  of  this  slight.  So 
Achilles  thrust  the  great  sword  back  into  the  sheath, 
and  was  not  disobedient  to  the  saying  of  Athene. 
But  he  in  nowise  ceased  his  wrath,  but  angrily  taunts 
the  king,  and  says: 

'The  name  of  the  Thessalian  tribe  over  which  Achilles  ruled. 


32  Homer  to  Theocritus 

"  And  now  I  say, 
And  bind  my  saying  with  a  mighty  oath  : 
By  this  my  sceptre,  which  can  never  bear 
A  leaf  or  twig,  since  first  it  left  its  stem 
Among  the  mountains— for  the  steel  has  pared 
Its  boughs  and  bark  away,  to  sprout  no  more, 
And  now  the  Achaian  judges  bear  it,  they 
Who  guard  the  laws  received  from  Jupiter, 
Such  is  my  oath — the  time  shall  come  when  all 
The  Greeks  shall  long  to  see  Achilles  back. 
While  multitudes  are  perishing  by  the  hand 
Of  Hector,  the  man-queller;  thou,  meanwhile, 
Though  thou  lament,  shalt  have  no  power  to  help,  . 
And  thou  shalt  rage  against  thyself  to  think 
That  thou  hast  scorned  the  bravest  of  the  Greeks." 

As  thus  he  spoke,  Pelides  to  the  ground 
Flung  the  gold-studded  wand,  and  took  his  seat. 

I,  298-314.     Bryant. 

Then  in  their  midst  rose  up  Nestor,  the  clear-voiced 
orator  of  the  Pylians,  he  from  whose  tongue  flowed 
discourse  sweeter  than  honey.  Two  generations  of 
mortal  men  had  he  seen  perish,  and  he  was  king 
among  the  third.  Vainly  he  tried  to  allay  the  passions 
of  the  two  chieftains.  Achilles  will  yield  the  maiden 
Briseis  to  Agamemnon,  but  continues  to  defy  his 
authority.  The  assembly  breaks  up.  Agamemnon 
sends  Chryseis  back  to  her  home,  and  has  Briseis 
brought  from  Achilles'  tent  to  his  own.  Apollo  is 
appeased,  but  Achilles'  abiding  wrath  remains. 
Seated  on  the  beach  of  the  sea,  he  prayed  earnestly  to 
his  mother,  Thetis.  And  his  mother  heard  him  as  she 
sat  in  the  sea-depths  beside  her  aged  sire.  With 
speed  arose  she  from  the  gray  sea,  like  a  mist,  and 
sat  her  before  the  face  of  her  weeping  son,  and 
stroked  him  with  her  hand.  Achilles  then  tells  Thetis 
his  great  sorrow,  and  entreats  her  to  ask  of  Zeus  that 


Epic  Poetry.      Introduction  to  the  Iliad     ^2 

he  shall  now  give  aid  to  the  Trojans,  and  that  the 
Achaeans  shall  be  given  over  to  slaughter,  in  order  that 
Agamemnon  may  perceive  his  blindness  in  that  he 
honored  not  at  all  the  best  of  the  Achaeans. 

Thetis  pities  her  son,  and  urges  him  to  refrain 
utterly  from  battle.  So  Achilles  sat  by  his  swift-far- 
ing ships,  still  wroth.  He  betook  him  neither  to  the 
assembly  nor  to  war,  but  consumed  his  heart  in  tarry- 
ing in  his  place,  and  yearned  for  the  war-cry  and  for 
battle.  And  Thetis,  when  the  gods  were  returned 
from  a  banquet  among  the  Ethiopians,  forgot  not 
her  son's  charge,  but  rose  up  from  the  sea-wave,  and 
at  early  morn  mounted  up  to  great  heaven  and 
Olympus,  There  found  she  Cronus'  son,  of  the  far- 
sounding  voice,  sitting  apart  from  all  on  the  topmost 
peak  of  many-ridged  Olympus.  So  she  sat  before  his 
face,  and  with  her  left  hand  clasped  his  knees,  and 
with  her  right  touched  him  beneath  the  chin,  and 
spake  in  prayer  to  Zeus: 

"O  Jupiter,  my  father,  if  among 
The  immortals  I  have  ever  given  thee  aid 
By  word  or  act,  deny  not  my  request. 
Honor  my  son,  whose  life  is  doomed  to  end 
So  soon  ;  for  Agamemnon,  king  of  men. 
Hath  done  him  shameful  wrong :  he  takes  from  him 
And  keeps  the  prize  he  won  in  war.     But  thou, 
Olympian  Jupiter,  supremely  wise. 
Honor  him  thou,  and  give  the  Trojan  host 
The  victory,  until  the  humbled  Greeks 
Heap  large  increase  of  honors  on  my  son." 

1, 633-643.     Bryant. 

Zeus  hesitates  to  promise,  for  he  fears  to  be  at  vari' 
ance  with  Hera,  his  wife,  who  favors  the  Greeks  on 
account  of  the  decision  of  Paris.      But  he  at  last  bowed 


34 


Homer  to  Theocritus 


his  dark  brow,  and  the  ambrosial  locks  waved  from 
the  king's  immortal  head,  and  he  made  great  Olympus 
shake.  Hera  suspects  the  motive  of  Thetis'  visit,  and 
expostulates  with  Zeus  on  his  interference  with  her 
plans,  but  Zeus  rebukes  her  severely,  so  that  she  is 
afraid.  Hephaestus  comforts  his  mother  Hera,  and 
the   gods   make   merry  at  the  banquet. 

So  ends  the  first  book,  which  forms  the  prologue  to 
the  main  action  of  the  poem. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE    MAIN   ACTION    OF   THE    ILIAD 

The  Preparation  for  Battle  —  Catalogue  of  the  Opposing 
Forces  —  The  First  Day  of  Battle  —  The  Combat  of  Paris 
and  Menelaus  —  Pandarus  violates  the  Truce — The  Valor 
of  Diomedes  —  The  Parting  of  Hector  and  Andromache — 
The  Combat  of  Ajax  and  Hector — Selections— Tho^  Second 
Day  of  Battle— The  Repulse  of  the  Greeks — The  Embassy 
to  Achilles  —  The  Treachery  of  Dolqn  —  Selections  —  The 
Third  Day  of  Battle  —  The  Trojans  break  down  the  Wall 
of  the  Camp — Poseidon  aids  the  Greeks  —  The  Ships  are 
set  on  Fire — Patroclus  fights  in  Achilles'  Armor  —  The 
Rout  of  the  Trojans — The  Slaying  of  Patroclus — The  Fight 
for  his  Body — The  Armor  of  Achilles — The  Turning-point 
of  the  Y\o\.~  Setectiotts  —  T\iQ  Fourth  Day  of  Battle- 
Achilles  drives  back  the  Greeks  —  The  Slaying  of 
Hector  —  Selections  —  The  Epilogue  —  The  Funeral  of 
Patroclus  —  The  Ransom  of    Hector's  Body  —  Selections. 

The  main  action  of  the  Iliad  occupies  the  next 
twenty-one  books,  large  portions  of  which  are  not 
strictly  necessary  to  the  unfolding  of  the  plot, 
although  in  the  main  they  illustrate  the  great  need 
which  the  Greeks  have  for  the  help  of  Achilles,  who 
remains  apart  until  Patroclus,  his  friend,  is  slain.  In 
this  interval  occur  three  days  of  fierce  battle. 

On  the  first  day  (Books  II  to  VII)  Agamemnon, 
who  has  been  beguiled  by  a  dream  sent  of  Zeus  into  the 
belief  that  he  will  speedily  capture  Troy,  even  without 
the  aid  of  Achilles,  marshals  his  hosts  and  prepares 
for  battle,  although  the  people  at  first,  thinking  that 
he  despairs  of  final  victory,  rush  to  the  ships  and  are 
with  difficulty  recalled.     An  imposing  catalogue  of  the 

35 


1 

i 

^6  Homer  to  Theocritus  1 

leaders  of  the  Greek  and  Trojan  forces,  with  the  con-  \ 
tingents  furnished  by  each,  closes  the  second  book,  l 
The  third  book  is  occupied  mainly  with  the  fight  of  \ 
Paris  with  Menelaus  in  single  combat,  both  armies  ] 
having  taken  a  solemn  oath  that  the  victor  should  .' 
receive  Helen  and  the  treasure  that  was  stolen  with  • 
her,  thus  ending  the  war.  Paris  is  about  to  be  taken  J 
captive  by  Menelaus  when  Aphrodite  intervenes  and  '] 
rescues  her  favorite.  While  the  armies  are  separated,  j 
waiting  for  the  duel  to  begin,  Helen,  in  a  famous  \ 
scene,  points  out  to  Priam  from  the  walls  of  Troy  the  ; 
greatest  warriors  on  the  Greek  side.  The  fourth  book  j 
opens  with  an  assembly  of  the  gods  on  Olympus,  i 
Hera  and  Athene,  in  order  to  insure  the  final  defeat  1 
of  the  Trojans,  win  the  reluctant  consent  of  Zeus  to  i 
their  plan  that  the  Trojans  shall  violate  their  solemn  ' 
pledge  to  deliver  up  Helen  to  Menelaus  as  victor  over  -? 
Paris.  So  Athene  incites  Pandarus,  the  Lycian  archer,  j 
who  fights  on  the  Trojan  side,  to  shoot  an  arrow  at  I 
Menelaus  during  the  armistice.  The  Greeks,  outraged  j 
by  this  act  of  treachery,  furiously  renew  the  battle,  j 
In  the  fifth  book  the  heroes  on  both  sides  do  mighty  ! 
deeds  of  valor,  ^neas.  Hector,  and  Sarpedon  for  the  i 
Trojans,  Menelaus,  Agamemnon,  and  Diomedes  for  j 
the  Greeks.  But  Diomedes  is  conspicuous  above  them  ] 
all.  He  would  have  slain  ^neas  but  for  Aphrodite's  \ 
intervention,  and  by  Athene's  aid  wounds  both  Aphro-  j 
dite  and  Ares  when  they  take  the  field  for  the  Trojans.  : 
There  is  less  fighting  in  the  sixth  book.  Glaucus,  i 
the  Lycian  ally  of  the  Trojans,  meets  Diomedes  in  i 
battle,  but  recognizing  each  other  as  family  friends,  • 
they  part  in  friendship.  Hector  goes  back  to  Troy  to  \ 
prepare  sacrifices  to  Athene,  in  the  hope  that  she  may  i 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  37 

withdraw  her  support  from  the  Greeks.  In  a  touching 
scene  he  bids  farewell  to  Andromache,  his  wife,  and 
to  his  child,  Astyanax,  and  returns  to  the  battlefield. 
In  the  seventh  book,  Ajax,  son  of  Telamon,  is  chosen 
by  lot  as  champion  of  the  Greeks  to  fight  Hector  in 
single  combat.  They  fight  desperately,  the  advantage 
being  slightly  on  the  side  of  Ajax,  but  night  puts  an 
end  to  the  encounter.  During  the  next  two  days  the 
dead  are  buried  and  the  Greeks  build  a  strong  wall 
about  their  ships.  We  quote  a  few  characteristic  pas- 
sages from  this  section  of  the  poem : 

THE   ASSEMBLY    OF   THE    GREEKS 

Up  rose  the  sceptered  monarchs,  and  obeyed 

Their  leader's  call,  and  round  them  throng'd  the  crowd 

As  swarms  of  bees,  that  pour  in  ceaseless  stream 

From  out  the  crevice  of  some  hollow  rock, 

Now  clust'ring,  and  anon  'mid  vernal  flow'rs, 

Some  here,  some  there,  in  busy  numbers  fly; 

So  to  th'  assembly  from  their  tents  and  ships 

The  countless  tribes  came  thronging  ;  in  their  midst, 

By  Jove  enkindled.  Rumour  urged  them  on. 

Great  was  the  din,  and  as  the  mighty  mass 

Sat  down,  the  solid  earth  beneath  them  groan'd ; 

Nine  heralds  rais'd  their  voices  loud,  to  quell 

The  storm  of  tongues,  and  bade  the  noisy  crowd 

Be  still,  and  listen  to  the  heaven-born  kings. 

At  length  they  all  were  seated,  and  awhile 

Their  clamours  sank  to  silence. 

11,98-113.     Derby. 

AGAMEMNON  ADDRESSES  THE  ARMY 

"  But  now  on  me  hath  segis-bearing  Jove, 
The  son  of  Saturn,  fruitless  toil  impos'd, 
And  hurtful  quarrels  ;  for  in  wordy  war 
About  a  girl  Achilles  and  myself 
Engag'd  ;  and  I,  alas!  the  strife  began  : 


3 8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Could  we  be  friends  again,  delay  were  none, 
How  short  soe'er,  of  Ilion's  final  doom. 
But  now  to  breakfast,  ere  we  wage  the  fight. 
Each  sharpen  well  his  spear,  his  shield  prepare, 
Each  to  his  fiery  steeds  their  forage  give, 
Each  look  his  chariot  o'er,  that  through  the  day 
We  may  unwearied  stem  the  tide  of  war; 
For  respite  none,  how  short  soe'er,  shall  be 
Till  night  shall  bid  the  storm  of  battle  cease. 
With  sweat  shall  reek  upon  each  warrior's  breast 
The  leathern  belt  beneath  the  covering  shield  ; 
And  hands  shall  ache  that  wield  the  pond'rous  spear; 
With  sweat  shall  reek  the  fiery  steeds  that  draw 
Each  warrior's  car  ;  but  whomsoe'er  I  find 
Loitering  beside  the  beaked  ships,  for  him 
'Twere  hard  to  'scape  the  vultures  and  the  dogs." 

He  said  ;  and  from  th'  applauding  ranks  of  Greece 
Rose  a  loud  sound,  as  when  the  ocean  wave, 
Driv'n  by  the  south  wind  on  some  lofty  beach, 
Dashes  against  a  prominent  crag,  expos'd 
To  blasts  from  every  storm  that  roars  around. 

n,  430-455-     Derby. 

THE    MARSHALING   OF   THE    GREEK    HOSTS 

The  high-voic't  heralds  instantly  he  charg'd  to  call  to  arms 
The  curl'd-head    Greeks ;    they  call'd ;    the   Greeks   straight 

answer'd  their  alarms. 
The  Jove  kept  kings  about  the  kings  all  gather'd,  with  their  aid 
Rang'd  all  in  tribes  and  nations.   With  them  the  gray-eyed  Maid 
Great  ^gis  (Jove's  bright  shield)  sustain'd,  that  can  be  never 

old. 
Never  corrupted,  fring'd  about  with  serpents  forg'd  of  gold, 
As  many  as  suffic'd  to  make  a  hundred  fringes,  worth 
An  hundred  oxen,  every  snake  all  sprawling,  all  set  forth 
With  wondrous  spirit.    Through  the  host  with  this  the  Goddess 

ran, 
In  fury  casting  round  her  eyes,  and  f urnisht  every  man 
With  strength,  exciting  all  to  arms,  and  fight  incessant.     None 
Now  liked  their  lov'd  homes  like  the  wars.    And  as  a  fire  upon 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  39 

A  huge  wood,  on  the  heights  of  hills,  that  far  off  hurls  his  light; 
So  the  divine  brass  shin'd  on  these,  thus  thrusting  on  for  fight, 
Their  splendour  through  the  air  reacht  heaven.     And  as  about 

the  flood 
Cayster,  in  an  Asian  mead,  flocks  of  the  airy  brood, 
Cranes,  geese,  or  long-neckt  swans,  here,  there,  proud  of  their 

pinions  fly, 
And  in  their  falls  lay  out  such  throats,  that  with  their  spiritfull 

cry 
The  meadow  shrieks  again  ;  so  here,  these  many  nation'd  men 
Flow'd    over   the    Scamandrian   field,   from  tents  and  ships ; 

the  din 
Was  dreadfull  that  the  feet  of  men  and  horse  beat  out  of  earth. 
And  in  the  florishing  mead  they  stood,  thick  as  the  odorous 

birth 
Of  flowers,  or  leaves  bred  in  the  spring ;  or  thick  as  swarms 

of  flies 
Throng  then  to  sheep-cotes,  when  each  swarm  his  erring  wing 

applies 
To  milk  dew'd  on  the  milk-maid's  pails  ;  all  eagerly  dispos'd 
To  give  to  ruin  th'  Ilians.    And  as  in  rude  heaps  clos'd. 
Though  huge  goatherds  are  at  their  food,  the  goatherds  easly 

yet 
Sort  into  sundry  herds  ;  so  here  the  chiefs  in  battel!  set. 
Here  tribes,  here  nations,  ordring  all.    Amongst  whom  shin'd 

the  king. 
With  eyes  like  lightning-loving  Jove,  his  forehead  answering. 
In  breast  like  Neptune,  Mars  in  waist.     And  as  a  goodly  bull 
Most  eminent  of  all  a  herd,  most  wrong,  most  masterful, 
So  Agamemnon  Jove  that  day  made  overheighten  clear 
That  heaven-bright  army,  and  preferr'd  to  all  th'  heroes  there. 

II,  379-412.     Chapman. 

PRIAM    AND    HELEN    ON    THE    WALLS    OF    TROY 

And  Priam  lifted  up  his  voice  and  called  to  Helen  :  "Come 
hither,  dear  child,  and  sit  before  me,  that  thou  mayest  see  thy 
former  husband  and  thy  kinsfolk  and  thy  friends.  I  hold  thee 
not  to  blame  ;  nay,  I  hold  the  gods  to  blame  who  brought  on 
me  this  dolorous  war  of  the  Achasans.''     .    .     .     And  Helen, 


40  Homer  to  Theocritus 

fair  among  women,  spake  and  answered  him  :  "  Reverend  art 
thou  to  me  and  dread,  dear  father  of  my  lord ;  would  that  sore 
death  had  been  my  pleasure  when  I  followed  thy  son  hither, 
and  left  my  home  and  my  kinsfolk,  and  my  daughter  in  her 
girlhood,  and  the  lovely  company  of  my  age-fellows.  But  that 
was  not  so,  wherefore  1  pine  with  weeping."  .  .  .  And 
thirdly  the  old  man  saw  Ajax,  and  asked  :  "Who  then  is  this 
other  Achaean  warrior,  goodly  and  great,  preeminent  above  the 
Argives  by  the  measure  of  his  head  and  broad  shoulders  ?  " 
And  long-robed  Helen,  fair  among  women,  answered  :  "  This 
is  huge  Ajax,  bulwark  of  the  Achaeans.  And  on  the  other  side 
amid  the  Cretans  standeth  Idomeneus  like  a  god,  and  about 
him  are  gathered  the  captains  of  the  Cretans.  Oft  did  Mene- 
laus,  dear  to  Zeus,  entertain  him  in  our  house,  whene'er  he  came 
from  Crete. 

Clearly  the  rest  I  behold  of  the  dark-eyed  sons  of  Achaea, 
Known  to  me  well  are  the  faces  of  all;  their  names  I  remember; 
Two,  two  only  remain,  whom  I  see  not  among  the  commanders, 
Castor,  fleet  in  the  car, — Polydeuces,  brave  with  the  cestus, — 
Own  dear  brothers  of  mine, — our  parents  loved  us  as  infants, — 
Are   they  not   here   in  the  host  from    the    shores  of    loved 

Lacedaemon  ? 
Or,  though  they  came  with  the  rest  in  ships  that  bound  through 

the  water, 
Dare   they  not   enter  the  fight,   or   stand    in  the   council  of 

heroes. 
All    for   fear  of  the   shame    and  the   taunts   my  crime    has 

awakened  ?  " 
So  said  she — they  long  since  in  earth's  soft  arms  were  reposing, 
There  in  their  own  native  land,  their  fatherland,  Lacedaemon.^ 

Ill,  234-244.     Hawtrey. 

»  This  exquisite  translation  by  Hawtrey  in  the  metre  of  the  original  "is 
the  one  version,"  says  Matthew  Arnold,  "of  any  part  of  the  Iliad  which  in 
some  degree  reproduces  for  me  the  original  effect  of  Homer." 

I  have  given  the  context  in  the  prose  version  of  Lang,  Leaf,  and  Myers, 
for  the  juxtaposition  of  blank  verse  and  hexameters  would  give  offense. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  IHad  41 


VALOR    OF   DIOMEDES 

But  of  Tydides  none  might  say  to  whom 
His  arm  belonged,  or  whether  with  the  hosts 
Of  Troy  or  Greece  he  mingled  in  the  fight : 
Hither  and  thither  o'er  the  plain  he  rush'd, 
Like  to  a  wintry  stream,  that  brimming  o'er 
Breaks  down  all  barriers  in  its  rapid' course  ; 
Nor  well-built  bridge  can  stem  the  flood,  nor  fence 
That  guards  the  fertile  fields,  as  down  it  pours 
Its  sudden  torrent,  swoll'n  with  rain  from  heav'n, 
And  many  a  goodly  work  of  man  destroys  : 
So  back  were  borne  before  Tydides'  might 
The  serried  ranks  of  Troy,  nor  dar'd  await, 
Despite  their  numbers,  his  impetuous  charge. 

V,  98-110.    Derby. 

ENCOUNTER    OF   DIOMEDES   AND   GLAUCUS 

Then  Tydeus'  son,  and  Glaucus,  in  the  midst, 
Son  of  Hippolochus,  stood  forth  to  fight ; 
But  when  they  near  were  met,  to  Glaucus  first 
The  valiant  Diomed  his  speech  address'd  : 

Who  art  tho  u,  boldest  man  of  mortal  birth  ? 
For  in  the  glorious  conflict  heretofore 
I  ne'er  have  seen  thee  ;  but  in  daring  now 
Thou  far  surpassest  all,  who  hast  not  fear'd 
To  face  my  spear  ;  of  most  unhappy  sires 
The  children  they,  who  my  encounter  meet. 
But  if  from  heav'n  thou  com'st,  and  art  indeed 
A  god,  I  fight  not  with  the  heav'nly  powers. 

But  be  thou  mortal,  and  the  fruits  of  earth 

Thy  food,  approach,  and  quickly  meet  thy  doom." 

To  whom  the  noble  Glaucus  thus  replied  : 
"Great  son  of  Tydeus,  why  my  race  enquire  ? 
The  race  of  man  is  as  the  race  of  leaves  : 
Of  leaves,  one  generation  by  the  wind 
Is  scattered  on  the  earth  ;  another  soon 
In  spring's  luxuriant  verdure  bursts  to  light. 
So  with  our  race  ;  these  flourish,  those  decay. 


..I'^i-H 


42  Homer  to  Theocritus 

But  if  thou  would'st  in  truth  enquire  and  learn 
The  race  I  spring  from,  not  unknown  of  men ; 
There  is  a  city,  in  the  deep  recess 
Of  pastoral  Argos,  Ephyre  by  name  : 
There  Sisyphus  of  old  his  dwelling  had, 
Of  mortal  men  the  craftiest ;  Sisyphus, 
The  son  of  ^olus  ;  to  whom  was  born 
Glaucus  ;  and  Glaucus  in^his  turn  begot 
Bellerophon,  on  whom  the  gods  bestow'd 
The  gifts  of  beauty  and  of  manly  grace. 

Three  children  there  to  brave  Bellerophon 
Were  born  ;  Isander,  and  Hippolochus, 
Laodamia  last,  belov'd  of  Jove. 

I  from  Hippolochus  my  birth  derive  : 
To  Troy  he  sent  me,  and  enjoin'd  me  oft 
To  aim  at  highest  honours,  and  surpass 
My  comrades  all  ;  nor  on  my  father's  name 
Discredit  bring,  who  held  the  foremost  place 
In  Ephyre,  and  Lycia's  wide  domain. 
Such  is  my  race,  and  such  the  blood  I  boast." 

He  said  ;  and  Diomed  rejoicing  heard  ; 
His  spear  he  planted  in  the  fruitful  ground. 
And  thus  with  friendly  words  the  chief  address'd 

"  By  ancient  ties  of  friendship  we  are  bound  ; 
For  godlike  CEneus  in  his  house  receiv'd 
For  twenty  days  the  brave  Bellerophon. 

So  I  in  Argos  am  thy  friendly  host ; 
Thou  mine  in  Lycia,  when  I  thither  come : 
Then  shun  we,  e'en  amid  the  thickest  fight. 
Each  oth&r's  lance ;  enough  there  are  for  me 
Of  Trojans  and  their  brave  allies  to  kill, 
As  heaven  may  aid  me,  and  my  speed  of  foot ; 
And  Greeks  enough  there  are  for  thee  to  slay. 
If  so  indeed  thou  canst ;  but  let  us  now 
Our  armour  interchange,  that  these  may  know 
What  friendly  bonds  of  old  our  houses  join." 
Thus  as  they  spoke,  they  quitted  each  his  car; 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  43 

Clasp'd  hand  in  hand,  and  plighted  mutual  faith. 
Then  Glaucus  of  his  judgment  Jove  deprived, 
His  armour  interchanging,  gold  for  brass, 
A  hundred  oxen's  worth  for  that  of  nine. 

VI,  141-278.    Derby. 

PARTING   OF    HECTOR   AND    ANDROMACHE 

Hector  left  in  haste 
The  mansion,  and  retraced  his  way  between 
The  rows  of  stately  dwellings,  traversing 
The  mighty  city.    When  at  length  he  reached 
The  Scaean  gates,  that  issue  on  the  field. 
His  spouse,  the  nobly  dowered  Andromache, 
Came  forth  to  meet  him— daughter  of  the  prince 
Egtion,  who,  among  the  woody  slopes 
Of  Placos,  in  the  Hypoplacian  town 
Of  Theb6,  ruled  Cilicia  and  her  sons. 
And  gave  his  child  to  Hector,  great  in  arms. 
She  came  attended  by  a  maid,  who  bore 
A  tender  child — a  babe  too  young  to  speak — 
Upon  her  bosom— Hector's  only  son. 
Beautiful  as  a  star,  whom  Hector  called 
Scamandrius,  but  all  else  Astyanax — 
The  city's  lord — since  Hector  stood  the  sole 
Defence  of  Troy.    The  father  on  his  child 
Looked  with  a  silent  smile.    Andromache 
Pressed  to  his  side  meanwhile,  and,  all  in  tears, 
Clung  to  his  hand,  and,  thus  beginning,  said  : 

"  Too  brave  !  thy  valor  yet  will  cause  thy  death. 
Thou  hast  no  pity  on  thy  tender  child. 
Nor  me,  unhappy  one,  who  soon  must  be 
Thy  widow.    All  the  Greeks  will  rush  on  thee 
To  take  thy  life.    A  happier  lot  were  mine. 
If  I  must  lose  thee,  to  go  down  to  earth, 
For  I  shall  have  no  hope  when  thou  art  gone, — 
Nothing  but  sorrow.     Father  have  I  none, 
And  no  dear  mother.     Great  Achilles  slew 
My  father  when  he  sacked  the  populous  town 
Of  the  Cilicians, — Thebe  with  high  gates. 


44  Homer  to  Theocritus 

'Twas  there  he  smote  Eetion,  yet  forbore 

To  make  his  arms  a  spoil  ;  he  dared  not  that, 

But  burned  the  dead  with  his  bright  armor  on, 

And  raised  a  mound  above  him.     Mountain-nymphs, 

Daughters  of  aegis-bearing  Jupiter, 

Came  to  the  spot  and  planted  it  with  elms. 

Seven  brothers  had  I  in  my  father's  house. 

And  all  went  down  to  Hades  in  one  day. 

Achilles,  the  swift-footed,  slew  them  all 

Among  their  slow-paced  bullocks  and  white  sheep. 

My  mother,  princess  on  the  woody  slopes 

Of  Placos,  with  his  spoils  he  bore  away. 

And  only  for  large  ransom  gave  her  back. 

But  her  Diana,  archer-queen,  struck  down 

Within  her  father's  palace.     Hector,  thou 

Art  father  and  dear  mother  now  to  me, 

And  brother  and  my  youthful  spouse  besides. 

In  pity  keep  within  the  fortress  here, 

Nor  make  thy  child  an  orphan  nor  thy  wife 

A  widow.     Post  thine  army  near  the  place 

Of  the  wild  fig-tree,  where  the  city  walls 

Are  low  and  may  be  scaled.    Thrice  in  the  war 

The  boldest  pf  the  foe  have  tried  the  spot — 

The  Ajaces  and  the  famed  Idomeneus, 

The  two  chiefs  born  to  Atreus,  and  the  brave 

Tydides,  whether  counselled  by  some  seer, 

Or  prompted  to  the  attempt  by  their  own  minds.' 

Then  answered  Hector,  great  in  war:  "  All  this 
I  bear  in  mind,  dear  wife  ;  but  I  should  stand 
Ashamed  before  the  men  and  long-robed  dames 
Of  Troy,  were  I  to  keep  aloof  and  shun 
The  conflict,  coward-like.     Not  thus  my  heart 
Prompts  me,  for  greatly  have  I  learned  to  dare 
And  strike  among  the  foremost  sons  of  Troy, 
Upholding  my  great  father's  fame  and  mine  ; 
Yet  well  in  my  undoubting  mind  I  know 
The  day  shall  come  in  which  our  sacred  Troy, 
And  Priam,  and  the  people  over  whom 
Spear-bearing  Priam  rules,  shall  perish  all. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  45 

But  not  the  sorrows  of  the  Trojan  race, 

Nor  those  of  Hecuba  herself,  nor  those 

Of  royal  Priam,  nor  the  woes  that  wait 

My  brothers  many  and  brave — who  all  at  last, 

Slain  by  the  pitiless  foe,  shall  lie  in  dust — 

Grieve  me  so  much  as  thine,  when  some  mailed  Greek 

Shall  lead  thee  weeping  hence,  and  take  from  thee 

Thy  day  of  freedom.     Thou  in  Argos  then 

Shalt,  at  another's  bidding,  ply  thy  loom, 

And  from  the  fountain  of  Messeis  draw 

Water,  or  from  the  Hypereian  spring, 

Constrained  unwillingly  by  the  cruel  lot. 

And  then  shall  some  one  say  who  sees  thee  weep, 

'  This  was  the  wife  of  Hector,  most  renowned 

Of  the  horse-taming  Trojans,  when  they  fought 

Around  their  city.'     So  shall  some  one  say, 

And  thou  shall  grieve  the  more,  lamenting  him 

Who  haply  might  have  kept  afar  the  day 

Of  thy  captivity.    O  let  the  earth 

Be  heaped  above  my  head  in  death  before 

I  hear  thy  cries  as  thou  art  borne  away!" 

So  speaking,  mighty  Hector  stretched  his  arrns 
To  take  the  boy  ;  die  boy  shrank  crying  back 
To  his  fair  nurse's  bosom,  scared  to  see 
His  father  helmeted  in  glittering  brass, 
And  eyeing  with  affright  the  horse-hair  plume 
That  grimly  nodded  from  the  lofty  crest. 
At  this  both  parents  in  thejr  fondness  laughed  ; 
And  hastily  the  mighty  Hector  took 
The  helmet  from  his  brow  and  laid  it  down 
Gleaming  upon  the  ground,  and,  having  kissed 
His  darling  son  and  tossed  him  up  in  play. 
Prayed  thus  to  Jove  and  all  the  gods  of  heaven  : 

"  O  Jupiter  and  all  ye  deities. 
Vouchsafe  that  this  my  son  may  yet  become 
Among  the  Trojans  eminent  like  me, 
And  nobly  rule  in  Ilium.     May  they  say, 
'This  man  is  greater  than  his  father  was  !  * 
When  they  behold  him  from  the  battlefield 


46  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Bring  back  the  bloody  spoil  of  the  slain  foe, 
That  so  his  mother  may  be  glad  at  heart." 

So  speaking,  to  the  arms  of  his  dear  spouse 
He  gave  the  boy ;  she  on  her  fragrant  breast 
Received  him,  weeping  as  she  smiled.    The  chief 
Beheld,  and,  moved  with  tender  pity,  smoothed 
Her  forehead  gently  with  his  hand  and  said  : 

"  Sorrow  not  thus,  beloved  one,  for  me. 
No  living  man  can  send  me  to  the  shades 
Before  my  time  ;  no  man  of  woman  born, 
Coward  or  brave,  can  shun  his  destiny. 
But  go  thou  home,  and  tend  thy  labors  there, — 
The  web,  the  distaff, — and  command  thy  maids 
To  speed  the  work.     The  cares  of  war  pertain 
To  all  men  born  in  Troy,  and  most  to  me." 

Thus  speaking,  mighty  Hector  took  again 
His  helmet,  shadowed  with  the  horse-hair  plume, 
While  homeward  his  beloved  consort  went, 
Oft  looking  back,  and  shedding  many  tears. 

VI,  505-^33-     Bryant. 

COMBAT   OF  AJAX   AND    HECTOR 

He  spake,  and,  brandishing  his  ponderous  lance. 
Hurled  it ;  and  on  the  outer  plate  of  brass, 
Which  covered  the  seven  bullock-hides,  it  struck 
The  shield  of  Ajax.     Through  the  brass  and  through 
Six  folds  of  hides  the  irresistible  spear 
Cut  its  swift  way,  and  at  the  seventh  stopped. 
Then  high-born  Ajax  cast  his  massive  spear 
In  turn,  and  drove  it  through  the  fair,  round  shield 
Of  Priam's  son.    Through  that  bn'ght  buckler  went 
The  rapid  weapon,  pierced  the  well-wrought  mail, 
And  tore  the  linen  tunic  at  the  flank. 
But  Hector  stooped,  and  thus  avoided  death. 
They  took  their  spears  again,  and,  coming  close. 
Like  lions  in  their  hunger,  or  wild  boars 
Of  fearful  strength,  joined  battle. 

Priam's  son 
Sent  his  spear  forward,  striking  in  the  midst 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  47 

The  shield  of  Ajax,  but  it  broke  not  through 
The  brass  ;  the  metal  turned  the  weapon's  point. 
While  Ajax,  springing  onward,  smote  the  shield 
Of  Hector,  drove  his  weapon  through,  and  checked 
His  enemy's  swift  advance,  and  wounded  him 
Upon  the  shoulder,  and  the  black  blood  flowed. 
Yet  not  for  this  did  plumed  Hector  cease 
From  combat,  but  went  back,  and,  lifting  up 
A  huge,  black,  craggy  stone  that  near  him  lay. 
Flung  it  with  force  against  the  middle  boss 
Of  the  broad  sevenfold  shield  that  Ajax  bore. 
The  brass  rang  with  the  blow.     Then  Ajax  raised 
A  heavier  stone,  and  whirled  it,  putting  forth 
His  arm's  immeasurable  strength  ;  it  broke 
Through  Hector's  shield  as  if  a  millstone's  weight 
Had  fallen.     His  knees  gave  way  ;  he  fell  to  earth 
Headlong  ;  yet  still  he  kept  his  shield.    At  once 
Apollo  raised  him  up ;  and  now  with  swords, 
Encountering  hand  to  hand,  they  both  had  flown 
To  wound  each  other,  if  the  heralds  sent 
As  messengers  from  Jupiter  and  men 
Had  not  approached,  —  Idaeus  from  the  side 
Of  Troy,  Talthybius  from  the  Grecian  host, — 
Wise  ancients  both.     Betwixt  the  twain  they  held 
Their  sceptres,  and  the  sage  Idaeus  spake :  — 

"  Cease  to  contend,  dear  sons,  in  deadly  fray ; 
Ye  both  are  loved  by  cloud-compelling  Jove, 
And  both  are  great  in  war,  as  all  men  know. 
The  night  is  come ;  be  then  the  night  obeyed." 

Vn,  316-360.     Bryant. 

The  second  day  of  battle  begins  in  the  eighth  book. 
Zeus  remembers  his  promise  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of 
Achilles.  He  therefore  commands  the  gods  to  help 
neither  side,  to  the  end  that  the  Trojans  may  have  the 
advantage.  Zeus  himself,  however,  constantly  inter- 
feres in  favor  of  the  Trojans.  The  Greeks  are  driven 
back  into  their  camp  by  the  ships,  while  the  Trojans 


48  Homer  to  Theocritus 

bivouac  on  the  plains,  confidently  expecting  victory  on 
the  morrow.  The  Greeks  are  panic-stricken.  During 
the  night  Agamemnon  summons  them  to  an  assembly, 
and  proposes  that  they  take  ship  for  home,  seeing  that 
they  should  never  capture  Troy.  Diomedes  opposes 
the  plan,  and  the  Achseans  shout  approval.  Agamem- 
non is  persuaded  by  his  chieftains  to  send  an  embassy 
to  Achilles  with  offering  of  rich  gifts  and  the  girl 
Briseis,  whom  he  had  taken  away,  if  only  he  will 
cease  from  his  wrath.  Phoenix,  Ajax,  and  Odysseus 
bear  the  message,  but  Achilles  indignantly  rejects  their 
overtures.  The  account  of  the  embassy  occupies  the 
ninth  book.  On  the  same  night  Odysseus  and  Diomedes 
steal  into  the  Trojan  camp  and  capture  Dolon,  whom 
Hector  has  sent  to  spy  upon  the  Greeks.  Dolon 
betrays  the  position  of  the  Thracian  king,  Rhesus. 
Rhesus  is  slain  in  his  sleep,  and  his  snow-white  horses 
are  brought  back  to  the  camp  by  the  ships.  These 
adventures  fill  the  tenth  book.  A  few  selections  from 
this  portion  of  the  poem  follow: 

THE    TROJANS    BIVOUAC    UPON    THE    PLAIN 

So  Hector  spake  :  the  Trojans  roar'd  applause  ; 
Then  loosed  their  sweating  horses  from  the  yoke, 
And  each  beside  his  chariot  bound  his  own  ; 
And  oxen  from  the  city,  and  goodly  sheep 
In  haste  they  drove,  and  honey-hearted  wine 
And  bread  from  out  the  houses  brought,  and  heap'd 
Their  firewood,  and  the  winds  from  off  the  plain 
Roird  the  rich  vapour  far  into  the  heaven. 
And  these  all  night  upon  the  bridge  of  war 
Sat  glorying ;  many  a  fire  before  them  blazed  ; 
As  when  in  heaven  the  stars  about  the  moon 
Look  beautiful,  when  all  the  winds  are  laid, 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  49 

And  every  height  comes  out,  and  jutting  peak 
And  valley,  and  the  immeasurable  heavens 
Break  open  to  their  highest,  and  all  the  stars 
Shme,  and  the  shepherd  gladdens  in  his  heart: 
So  many  a  fire  between  the  ships  and  stream 
Of  Xanthus  blazed  before  the  towers  of  Troy, 
A  thousand  on  the  plain  ;  and  close  by  each 
Sat  fifty  in  the  blaze  of  burning  fire ; 
And  eating  hoary  grain  and  pulse  the  steeds, 
Fixt  by  their  cars,  waited  the  golden  dawn. 

VIII,  542-561.    Tennyson. 

AGAMEMNON'S    PROPOSAL   TO   ACHILLES^ 

"O  ancient  man,  most  truly  hast  thou  named  my  faults. 
I  erred,  and  I  deny  it  not. 
That  man  indeed  is  equal  to  a  host 
Whom  Jupiter  doth  love  and  honor  thus, 
Humbling  the  Achaian  people  for  his  sake. 
And  now,  since,  yielding  to  my  wayward  mood 
I  erred,  let  me, appease  him,  if  I  may. 
With  gifts  of  priceless  worth.     Before  you  all 
I  number  them,  —  seven  tripods  which  the  fire 
Hath  never  touched,  six  talents  of  pure  gold, 
And  twenty  shining  caldrons,  and  twelve  steeds 
Of  hardy  frame,  victorious  in  the  race, 
Whose  feet  have  won  me  prizes  in  the  games. 
No  beggar  would  he  be,  nor  yet  with  store 
Of  gold  unfurnished,  in  whose  coffers  lay 
The  prizes  those  swift  steeds  have  brought  to  me. 
Seven  faultless  women,  skilled  in  household  arts, 
I  give  moreover,  —  Lesbians,  whom  I  chose 
When  he  o'erran  the  populous  Lesbian  isle, — 
Damsels  in  beauty  who  excel  their  sex. 
These  I  bestow,  and  with  them  I  will  send 
Her  whom  I  took  away,  Briseis,  pure  — 
I  swear  it  with  a  mighty  oath  —  as  pure 
As  when  she  left  his  tent.     All  these  I  give 

'Addressed  to  Nestor  in  a  meeting  of  the  chieftains. 


50  Homer  to  Theocritus 

At  once ;  and  u  by  favor  of  the  gods 

We  lay  the  mighty  city  of  Priam  waste, 

He  shall  load  down  his  galley  with  large  store 

Of  gold  and  silver,  entering  first  when  we. 

The  Greeks,  divide  the  spoil.   Then  may  he  choose 

Twice  ten  young  Trojan  women,  beautiful 

Beyond  their  sex  save  Helen.     If  we  come 

Safe  to  Achaian  Argos,  richly  stocked 

With  milky  kine,  he  may  become  to  me 

A  son-in-law,  and  cherished  equally 

With  my  sole  son  Orestes,  who  is  reared 

Most  royally.     Three  daughters  there,  within 

My  stately  palace-walls,  —  Chrysothemis, 

Laodice,  and  Iphianassa,^  —  dwell, 

And  he  may  choose  among  them,  and  may  lead 

Home  to  the  house  of  Peleus  her  who  best 

Deserves  his  love.     Nor  need  he  to  endow 

The  bride,  for  I  will  give  an  ampler  dower 

Than  ever  father  to  his  daughter  gave, — 

Seven  cities  with  thronged  streets,  —  Cardamyle, 

Enope,  grassy  Hira,  Pherae  famed 

Afar,  Antheia  with  rich  pasture-fields, 

^peia  beautiful,  and  Pedasus 

With  all  its  vineyards  ;  all  are  near  the  sea, 

And  stand  the  last  before  you  reach  the  coast 

Of  sandy  Pylos.     Rich  in  flocks  and  herds 

Their  dwellers  are,  and  they  will  honor  him 

As  if  he  were  a  god,  and,  ruled  by  him, 

Will  pay  large  tribute.    These  will  I  bestow, 

Let  but  his  anger  cool  and  his  resolve 

Give  way.    'T  is  Pluto  who  is  deaf  to  prayer 

And  ne'er  relents,  and  he,  of  all  the  gods 

Most  hateful  is  to  men.     Now  let  the  son 

Of  Peleus  yield  at  length  to  me,  who  stand 

Above  him  in  authority  and  years." 

IX,  138-195.     Bryant. 

»In  later  Greek  tradition  Laodice  is  known  as  Electra  and  Iphianassa  as 
Ipbigeneia. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  51 

ACHILLES'    REPLY    TO   AJAX 

Achilles  the  swift-footed  answered  thus:  — 

"Illustrious  Ajax,  son  of  Telamon, 

Prince  of  the  people  !  All  that  thou  hast  said, 

I  well  perceive,  is  prompted  by  thy  heart. 

Mine  swells  with  indignation  when  I  think 

How  King  Atrides  mid  the  assembled  Greeks 

Heaped  insults  on  me,  as  if  I  had  been 

A  wretched  vagabond.    But  go  ye  now 

And  bear  my  message.     I  shall  never  think 

Of  bloody  war  till  noble  Hector,  son 

Of  Priam,  slaughtering  in  his  way  the  Greeks, 

Shall  reach  the  galleys  of  the  Myrmidons, 

To  lay  the  fleet  in  flames.     But  when  he  comes 

To  my  own  tent  and  galley,  he,  I  think, 

Though  eager  for  the  combat,  will  desist." 

IX,  803-817.    Bryant. 

The  third  day  of  battle  occupies  the  next  eight 
books  (XI  to  XVIII).  In  the  eleventh  Agamemnon 
distinguishes  himself,  but  is  wounded  and  obliged  to 
retire,  as  are  also  Diomedes  and  Odysseus.  In  the 
twelfth  the  fighting  goes  against  the  Greeks.  The 
Trojans  press  forward  to  the  wall  around  the  camp. 
Sarpedon  breaks  through  the  wall,  but  is  opposed  by 
Ajax,  son  of  Telamon.  Hector  breaks  down  the  gates 
with  a  huge  stone,  and  the  Trojans  pour  through  the 
breach.  In  the  thirteenth  book  Poseidon  comes  from 
the  sea  to  rally  the  Greeks  while  Zeus  is  inattentive. 
They  defend  their  ships  valiantly,  though  the  Trojans 
press  them  hard.  Idomeneus  slays  many  Trojan  lead- 
ers, while  Ajax,  son  of  Telamon,  and  Ajax,  son  of 
Oileus,  check  the  progress  of  Hector.  In  the  four- 
teenth book,  Zeus,  beguiled  by  Hera,  sleeps  on  Mount 
Ida,  thus  enabling  Poseidon  to  continue  his  interfer- 


52  Homer  to  Theocritus 

ence  in  favor  of  the  Greeks.  Ajax,  son  of  Telamon, 
fells  Hector  with  a  huge  stone,  and  the  latter  is  carried 
out  of  the  fight.  The  tide  of  battle  is  now  against  the 
Trojans;  but  Zeus,  in  the  fifteenth  book,  awakens,  and 
seeing  the  work  of  Poseidon,  angrily  orders  him  off 
the  field.  Apollo,  at  the  behest  of  Zeus,  revives  Hec- 
tor, who  reenters  the  battle-line.  The  Trojans  again 
drive  back  the  Greeks,  this  time  to  the  ships  them- 
selves, and  set  their  ships  on  fire. 

A  critical  moment  has  arrived.  Achilles  is  resolved 
not  to  help  the  Greeks  until"  the  Trojans  shall  threaten 
his  own  ships.  But  Patroclus,  seeing  the  rout  of  the 
Greeks,  prevails  upon  Achilles  to  lend  him  his  armor, 
that  the  Trojans  may  think  that  Achilles  has  returned 
to  battle.  Achilles  arms  his  soldiers,  the  Myrmidons, 
and  sends  them  into  the  battle  under  Patroclus'  com- 
mand. The  tide  of  battle  at  once  changes  again.  The 
Trojans  are  driven  back  from  the  ships  and  the  fire 
is  quenched.  Patroclus  pushes  the  Trojans  out  beyond 
the  walls  of  the  camp.  He  slays  Sarpedon,  king  of 
the  Lycians  and  son  of  Zeus,  the  mightiest  of  the 
Trojan  allies.  Hector  and  the  Trojans  fall  back  to 
Troy,  which  Patroclus  vainly  assaults.  Finally,  Hec- 
tor, with  Apollo's  aid,  slays  Patroclus.  The  account  of 
Patroclus'  part  in  the  battle  occupies  the  sixteenth 
book.  The  seventeenth  is  devoted  to  the  fight  over 
Patroclus'  body.  Hector  dons  the  armor  of  Achilles, 
which  he  has  stripped  from  the  body  of  Patroclus, 
but  he  is  unable  to  get  possession  of  the  body.  Men- 
elaus  and  Ajax,  with  the  Myrmidons,  close  in  around 
it,  and  retire  slowly  and  with  difficulty  toward  their 
camp.  In  the  eighteenth  book  Achilles  is  told  of  the 
death  of  Patroclus.     He  appears  unarmed  beyond  the 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  53 

wall  of  the  camp,  and  by  his  appearance  and  terrible 
shouting  so  frightens  the  Trojans  that  Patroclus*  body 
is  brought  safely  within  the  camp.  Achilles  is  resolved 
to  avenge  upon  Hector  the  death  of  his  friend.  Thetis, 
his  mother,  entreats  Hephaestus  to  make  a  new  set  of 
armor  for  Achilles.  The  book  closes  with  a  descrip- 
tion of  Achilles'  shield. 

The  turning-point  in  the  plot  of  the  Iliad  is  the 
death  of  Patroclus.  Up  to  this  time  Agamemnon  and 
the  Greeks  have  learned  by  bitter  defeat  the  full  mean- 
ing of  the  wrath  of  Achilles.  The  prophecy  of 
Achilles,  that  "verily  longing  for  Achilles  shall  come 
hereafter  upon  the  sons  of  the  Achaeans,  one  and  all," 
has  been  fulfilled  by  the  will  of  Zeus.  But  Achilles 
had  not  yet,  even  when  the  Greeks  were  obliged  to 
fight  to  save  the  ships  from  the  flames,  fed  his  grudge 
to  the  full.  The  death  of  his  dearest  friend  was  neces- 
sary to  cause  him  to  forget  the  insult  put  upon  him 
by  Agamemnon,  that  he  might  avenge  upon  Hector 
a  still  greater  grief.  Dante  expressed  this  interpreta- 
tion in  the  words:  "Achilles,  who  at  the  last  was 
brought  to  fight  by  love."  A  few  passages  from  this 
third  eventful  day  of  battle  follow: 

SARPEDON   TO    HIS    BROTHER   GLAUCUS 

*'  Why  boast  we,  Glaucus,  our  extended  reign, 
Where  Xanthus'  streams  enrich  the  Lycian  plain, 
Our  numerous  herds  that  range  the  fruitful  field, 
And  hills  where  vines  their  purple  harvest  yield, 
Our  foaming  bowls  with  purer  nectar  crown'd. 
Our  hearts  enhanced  with  music's  sprightly  sound? 
Why  on  these  shores  are  we  with  joy  survey'd, 
Admired  as  heroes,  and  as  gods  obey'd, 
Unless  great  acts  superior  merit  prove, 
And  vindicate  the  bounteous  powers  above? 


54  Homer  to  Theocritus 

'T  is  ours,  the  dignity  they  give  to  grace  ;  J 


The  first  in  valor,  as  the  first  in  place ; 

That  when  with  wandering  eyes  our  martial  bands 

Behold  our  deeds  transcending  our  commands, 

Such,  they  may  cry,  deserve  the  sovereign  state, 

Whom  those  that  envy  dare  not  imitate ! 

Could  all  our  care  elude  the  gloomy  grave, 

Which  claims  no  less  the  fearful  and  the  brave, 

For  lust  of  fame  I  should  not  vainly  dare 

In  fighting  fields,  nor  urge  thy  soul  to  war. 

But  since,  alas !  ignoble  age  must  come, 

Disease,  and  death's  inexorable  doom, 

The  life,  which  others  pay,  let  us  bestow, 

And  give  to  fame  what  we  to  honor  owe ; 

Brave  though  we  fall,  and  honor'd  if  we  live. 

Or  let  us  glory  gain,  or  glory  give  !  " 

XII,  310-328.     Pope.* 

THE   VALOR   OF   HECTOR 

Fiercely  he  rag'd,  as  terrible  as  Mars 
With  brandish'd  spear ;  or  as  a  raging  fire 
•Mid  the  dense  thickets  on  the  mountain-side. 
The  foam  was  on  his  lips  ;  bright  flash'd  his  eyes 
Beneath  his  awful  brows,  and  terribly 
Above  his  temples  wav'd  amid  the  fray 
The  helm  of  Hector;  Jove  himself  from  Heav'n 
His  guardian  hand  extending,  him  alone 
With  glory  crowning  'mid  the  host  of  men ; 
But  short  his  term  of  glory :  for  the  day 
Was  fast  approaching,  when,  with  Pallas'  aid, 
The  might  of  Peleus'  son  should  work  his  doom. 
Oft  he  assay'd  to  break  the  ranks,  where'er 
The  densest  throng  and  noblest  arms  he  saw; 
But  strenuous  though  his  efforts,  all  were  vain  : 
They,  mass'd  in  close  array,  his  charge  withstood ; 
Firm  as  a  craggy  rock,  upstanding  high, 

*In  this  passage,  in  Matthew  Arnold's  Judgment,  Pope  was  at  his  best. 
These  famous  lines  were  quoted  by  Lord  Granville  on  his  death-bed,  when 
considering  the  preliminary  articles  of  the  Treaty  of  Paris. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad             55  j 

Close  by  the  hoary  sea,  which  meets  unmov'd  i 

The  boist'rous  currents  of  the  whistling  winds,  1 

And  the  big  waves  that  bellow  round  its  base ;  > 

So  stood  unmov'd  the  Greeks,  and  undismay'd.  \ 

At  length,  all  blazing  in  his  arms,  he  sprang  i 

Upon  the  mass  ;  so  plunging  down,  as  when  | 

On  some  tall  vessel,  from  beneath  the  clouds  ^ 

A  huge  billow,  tempest-nurs'd,  descends ;  l 

The  deck  is  drench'd  in  foam  ;  the  stormy  wind  \ 

Howls  in  the  shrouds  ;  th'  affrighted  seamen  quail  j 

In  fear,  but  little  way  from  death  remov'd ;  ; 

So  quailed  the  spirit  in  ev'ry  Grecian  breast.  ] 

As  when  a  rav'ning  lion  on  a  herd  ? 

Of  heifers  falls,  which  on  some  marshy  mead  j 

Feed  numberless,  beneath  the  care  of  one  \ 

Unskill'd  from  beasts  of  prey  to  guard  his  charge ;  j 

And  while  the  front  or  rear  he  walked,  | 

The  lion  on  th'  unguarded  centre  springs,  ^ 

Seizes  on  one,  and  scatters  all  the  rest ;  ^ 

So  Hector,  led  by  Jove,  in  wild  alarm  i 

Scatter'd  the  Grecians  all.  i 

XV,  704-741.    Derby.  '  1 


THETIS    FORETELLS   ACHILLES     DEATH 

There,  as  he  groan'd  aloud,  beside  him  stood 

His  Goddess-mother ;  she,  with  bitter  cry, 

Clasp'd  in  her  hands  his  head,  and  spoke  : 

"  Why  weeps  my  son?  and  what  his  cause  of  grief? 

Speak  out,  and  naught  conceal ;  for  all  thy  pray'r 

Which  with  uplifted  hands  thou  mad'st  to  Jove, 

He  hath  fulfill'd,  that,  flying  to  their  ships 

The  routed  sons  of  Greece  should  feel  how  much 

They  need  thine  aid,  and  deep  disgrace  endure." 

To  whom  Achilles,  deeply  groaning,  thus  : 
"  Mother,  all  this  indeed  hath  Jove  fulfill'd  ; 
Yet  what  avails  it,  since  my  dearest  friend 
Is  slain,  Patroclus?  whom  I  honour'd  most 
Of  all  my  comrades,  lov'd  him  as  my  soul. 


56  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Him  have  I  lost :  and  Hector  from  his  corpse      [arms 

Hath  stripp'd  those  arms,  those  weighty,  beauteous 

A  marvel  to  behold,  which  from  the  Gods 

Peleus  receiv'd,  a  glorious  gift,  that  day 

When  they  consign'd  thee  to  a  mortal's  bed. 

How  better  were  it,  if  thy  lot  had  been 

Still  'mid  the  Ocean  deities  to  dwell, 

And  Peleus  had  espous'd  a  mortal  bride  ! 

And  now  is  bitter  grief  for  thee  in  store. 

Mourning  thy  son,  whom  to  his  home  return'd 

Thou  never  more  shalt  see  ;  nor  would  I  wish 

To  live,  and  move  among  my  fellow  men, 

Unless  that  Hector,  vanquish'd  by  my  spear, 

May  lose  his  forfeit  life,  and  pay  the  price 

Of  foul  dishonour  to  Patroclus  done." 

To  whom,  her  tears  o'erflowing,  Thetis  thus: 
"  E'en  as  thou  sayst,  my  son,  thy  term  is  short ; 
Nor  long  shall  Hector's  fate  precede  thine  own." 

Achilles,  answ'ring,  spoke  in  passionate  grief : 
"Would  I  might  this  hour,  who  fail'd  to  save 
My  comrade  slain  !   Far  from  his  native  land 
He  died,  sore  needing  my  protecting  arm : 
And  I,  who  ne'er  again  must  see  my  home,  * 
Nor  to  Patroclus,  nor  the  many  Greeks 
Whom  Hector's  hand  hath  slain,  have  render'd  aid ; 
But  idly  here  I  sit,  cumb'ring  the  ground: 
I,  who  amid  the  Greeks  no  equal  own 
In  fight;  to  others,  in  debate,  I  yield. 

In  search  of  Hector  now,  of  him  who  slew 
My  friend,  I  go;  prepar'd  to  meet  my  death, 
When  Jove  shall  will  it,  and  th'  Immortals  all. 
From  death  not  e'en  the  might  of  Hercules, 
Though  best  belov'd  of  Saturn's  sons,  could  fly 
By  fate  and  Juno's  bitter  wrath  subdued, 
I  too,  since  such  my  doom,  must  lie  in  death ; 
Yet,  e'er  I  die,  immortal  fame  will  win." 

XVIII,  126-133.    Derby. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  57 


THE    SHIELD    OF   ACHILLES 

And  first  he  forged  the  huge  and  massive  shield, 
Divinely  wrought  in  every  part,  —  its  edge 
Clasped  with  a  triple  border,  white  and  bright. 
A  silver  belt  hung  from  it,  and  its  folds 
Were  five  ;  a  crowd  of  figures  on  its  disk 
Were  fashioned  by  the  artist's  passing  skill, 
For  here  he  placed  the  earth  and  heaven,  and  here 
The  great  deep,  and  the  never-resting  sun 
And  the  full  moon,  and  here  he  set  the  stars 
That  shine  in  the  round  heaven,  —  the  Pleiades, 
The  Hyades,  Orion  in  his  strength, 
And  the  Bear  near  him,  called  by  some  the  Wain, 
That,  wheeling,  keeps  Orion  still  in  sight. 
Yet  bathes  not  in  the  waters  of  the  sea. 

There  placed  he  two  fair  cities  full  of  men; 
In  one  were  marriages  and  feasts  ;  they  led 
The  brides  with  flaming  torches  from  their  bowers. 
Along  the  streets,  with  many  a  nuptial  song. 
There  the  young  dancers  whirled,  and  flutes  and  lyres 
Gave  forth  their  sounds,  and  wqmen  at  the  doors 
Stood  5nd  admired 

Around  the  other  city  sat  two  hosts 
In  shining  armor,  bent  to  lay  it  waste. 
Unless  the  dwellers  would  divide  their  wealth, — 
All  that  their  pleasant  homes  contained, —  and  yield 
The  assailants  half.     As  yet  the  citizens 
Had  not  complied,  but  secretly  had  planned 
An  ambush.    Their  beloved  wives  meanwhile. 
And  their  young  children,  stood  and  watched  the  walls^ 
With  aged  men  among  them,  while  the  youths 
Marched  on,  with  Mars  and  Pallas  at  their  head, 
Both  wrought  in  gold,  with  golden  garments  on. 
Stately  and  large  in  form,  and  over  all 
Conspicuous,  as  in  bright  armor,  as  became 
The  gods ;  the  rest  were  of  an  humbler  size. 

There,  too.  the  artist  placed  a  field  which  lay 


58  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Deep  in  ripe  wheat.    With  sickles  in  their  hands 
The  laborers  reaped  it.     Here  the  handfuls  fell 
Upon  the  ground  ;  there  binders  tied  them  fast     [went 
With  bands  and  made  them  sheaves.    Three  binders 
Close  to  the  reapers,  and  behind  them  boys, 
Bringing  the  gathered  handfuls  in  their  arms, 
Ministered  to  the  binders.     Staff  in  hand, 
The  master  stood  among  them  by  the  side 
Of  the  ranged  sheaves  and  silently  rejoiced. 
Meanwhile  the  servants  underneath  an  oak 
Prepared  a  feast  apart ;  they  sacrificed 
A  fatling  ox  and  dressed  it,  while  the  maids 
Were  kneading  for  the  reapers  the  white  meal. 

A  vineyard  also  on  the  shield  he  graved, 
Beautiful,  all  of  gold,  and  heavily 
Laden  with  grapes.     Black  were  the  clusters  all ; 
The  vines  were  stayed  on  rows  of  silver  stakes. 
He  drew  a  blue  trench  round  it,  and  a  hedge 
Of  tin.    Only  one  path  was  there  by  which 
The  vintagers  could  go  to  gather  grapes. 
Young  maids  and  striplings  of  a  tender  age 
Bore  the  sweet  fruit  in  baskets.     Midst  them  all, 
A  youth  from  his  shrill  harp  drew  pleasant  sounds, 
And  sang  with  soft  voice  to  the  murmuring  strings. 
They  danced  around  him,  beating  with  quick  feet 
The  ground,  and  sang  and  shouted  joyously. 

And  there  illustrious  Vulcan  also  wrought 
A  dance,  —  a  maze  like  that  which  Daedalus 
In  the  broad  realms  of  Gnossus  once  contrived 
For  fair-haired  Ariadne,    Blooming  youths 
And  lovely  virgins,  tripping  to  light  airs. 
Held  fast  each  other's  wrists.    The  maidens  wore 
Fine  linen  robes  ;  the  youths  had  tunics  on 
Lustrous  as  oil,  and  woven  daintily.  [swords 

The  maids  wore  wreaths  of  flowers  ;  the  young  men 
Of  gold  in  silver  belts.     They  bounded  now 
In  a  swift  circle,  —  as  a  potter  whirls 
With  both  his  hands  a  wheel  to  try  its  speed. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  59 

Sitting  before  it,  —  then  again  they  crossed 

Each  other,  darting  to  their  former  place. 

A  multitude  around  that  joyous  dance 

Gathered,  and  were  amused,  while  from  the  crowd 

Two  tumblers  raised  their  song,  and  flung  themselves 

About  among  the  band  that  trod  the  dance. 

Last  on  the  border  of  that  great  glorious  shield 
He  graved  in  all  its  strength  the  ocean-stream. 

XVIII,  601-750.     Bryant. 

The  fourth  day  of  battle  occupies  the  next  four 
books  (XIX-XXII).  In  the  nineteenth  Achilles  is 
reconciled  to  Agamemnon,  who  restores  Briseis  and 
gives  rich  gifts  besides.  The  Greeks  issue  forth  to 
battle,  which  is  renewed  in  the  twentieth  book. 
Achilles  dominates  the  field,  looking  always  for  Hec- 
tor, ^neas  narrowly  escapes  being  killed  by  him. 
The  gods  interfere  freely  on  both  sides.  Achilles,  in 
the  twenty-first  book,  fights  with  the  river-god  Sca- 
mander,  which  overflows  its  banks  to  help  the  Trojans, 
and  is  barely  saved  by  Hera  and  Hephaestus.  Achilles 
chases  the  Trojans  inside  the  citadel.  In  the  twenty- 
second  book,  Hector,  in  spite  of  the  entreaties  of  his 
father  and  mother,  goes  out  to  meet  Achilles,  but  fear 
comes  upon  him,  and  he  flees  thrice  around  the  walls 
of  Troy.  Zeus  tries  the  fate  of  the  warriors  in  the 
balance,  and  Hector  is  doomed.  But  he  makes 
a  brave  stand  at  the  last,  and  is  slain  by  Athene's 
guile.  Achilles  then  drags  the  body  of  Hector  after 
his  chariot.  Patroclus*  death  is  avenged.  The  main 
action  of  the  Iliad  is  at  an  end,  and  the  plot  worked 
out  to  its  completion.  From  these  four  books  a  few 
selections  follow; 


6o  Homer  to  Theocritus 


ACHILLES   DONS    HIS  ARMOR 

As  when  the  flakes  of  snow  fall  thick  from  heaven, 
Driven  by  the  north  wind  sweeping  on  the  clouds 
Before  it,  so  from  out  the  galleys  came 
Helms  crowding  upon  helms  that  glittered  fair, 
Strong  hauberks,  bossy  shields,  and  ashen  spears. 
The  gleam  of  armor  brightened  heaven  and  earth, 
And  mighty  was  the  sound  of  trampling  feet. 
Amidst  them  all  the  great  Achilles  stood. 
Putting  his  armor  on  ;  he  gnashed  his  teeth  ; 
His  eyes  shot  fire  ;  a  grief  too  sharp  to  bear 
Was  in  his  heart,  as,  filled  with  rage  against 
The  men  of  Troy,  he  cages  his  limbs  in  mail, 
The  gift  of  Vulcan,  from  whose  diligent  hand 
It  came.     And  first  about  his  legs  he  clasped 
The  beautiful  greaves,  with  silver  fastenings, 
Fitted  the  corselet  to  his  bosom  next. 
And  from  his  shoulders  hung  the  brazen  sword 
With  silver  studs,  and  then  he  took  the  shield 
Massive  and  broad,  whose  brightness  streamed  as  far 
As  the  moon's  rays.     And  as  at  sea  the  light 
Of  beacon,  blazing  in  some  lonely  spot 
By  night,  upon  a  mountain  summit,  shines 
To  mariners  whom  the  tempest's  force  has  driven 
Far  from  their  friends  across  the  fishy  deep. 
So  from  that  glorious  buckler  of  the  son 
Of  Peleus,  nobly  wrought,  a  radiance  streamed 
Into  the  sky.    And  then  he  rais'd  and  placed 
Upon  his  head  the  impenetrable  helm 
With  horse-hair  plume.     It  glittered  like  a  star, 
And  all  the  shining  tufts  of  golden  thread, 
With  which  the  maker's  hand  had  thickly  set 
Its  cone,  were  shaken.     Next  the  high-born  chief 
Tried  his  new  arms,  to  know  if  they  were  well 
Adjusted  to  his  shape,  and  left  his  limbs 
Free  play.     They  seemed  like  wings,  and  lifted  up 
The  shepherd  of  the  people.    Then  he  drew 
From  its  ancestral  sheath  his  father's  spear, 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad             6i  j 

Heavy  and  huge  and  tough.     No  man  of  all  j 

The  Grecian  host  could  wield  that  weapon  save  | 

Achilles  only.     'Twas  a  Pelian  ash,  I 

Which  Chiron  for  his  father  had  cut  down  j 
On  Pelion's  highest  peak,  to  be  the  death 

Of  heroes.  1 

XIX,  433-475.    Bryant.  | 

ACHILLES  AND   HIS   STEEDS  \ 

Achilles  mounted,  in  a  blaze  J 
Of  arms  that  dazzled  like  the  sun,  and  thus 

Called  to  his  father's  steeds  with  terrible  voice  :  \ 

'•  Xanthus  and  Balius,  whom  Podarg^  bore, — 
A  noble  stock,— I  charge  you  to  bring  back 
Into  the  Grecian  camp,  the  battle  done, 

Him  whom  ye  now  are  bearing  to  the  field,  ^ 
Nor  leave  him,  as  ye  left  Patroclus,  dead." 

Swift-footed  Xanthus  from  beneath  the  yoke  '] 

Answered  him  with  bowed  head  and  drooping  mane  ■[ 

That,  flowing  through  the  yoke-ring,  swept  the  ground;  j 

For  Juno  gave  him  then  the  power  of  speech.  j 

"  For  this  one  day,  c»t  least,  we  bear  thee  safe,  ' 
O  fiery  chief,  Achilles  !  but  the  hour 

Of  death  draws  nigh  to  thee,  nor  will  the  blame  | 

Be  ours  ;  a  mighty  god  and  cruel  fate  I 

Ordain  it.     Not  through  our  neglect  or  sloth  ; 

Did  they  of  Troy  strip  off  thy  glorious  arms  | 

From  slain  Patroclus.    That  invincible  god,  ] 

The  son  of  golden  haired  Latona,  smote  *] 

The  hero  in  the  foremost  ranks,  and  gave  1 

Glory  to  Hector.     Even  though  our  speed  i 

Were  that  of  Zephyr,  fleetest  of  the  winds,  i 

Yet  certain  is  thy  doom  to  be  o'ercome  i 

In  battle  by  a  god  and  by  a  man."  ] 

Thus  far  he  spake,  and  then  the  Furies  checked  i 

His  further  speech.    Achilles,  swift  of  foot,  \ 
Replied  in  anger  :   "  Xanthus,  why  foretell 

My  death?     It  is  not  needed  ;  well  I  know  i 

My  fate, — that  here  I  perish,  far  away  j 


6o  Homer  to  Theocritus 

From  Peleus  and  my  mother.     I  shall  fight 
Till  I  have  made  the  Trojans  sick  of  war." 

He  spake,  and  shouting  to  his  firm-paced  steeds, 
Drave  them,  among  the  foremost,  toward  the  war. 

XIX,  483-516.     Bryant. 

THE  GODS  DESCEND  TO  BATTLE 

But  when  the  powers  descending  swell'd  the  fight. 
Then  tumult  rose  ;  fierce  rage  and  pale  affright 
Varied  each  face  :  then  Discord  sounds  alarms, 
Earth  echoes,  and  the  nations  rush  to  arms. 
Now  through  the  trembling  shores  Minerva  calls. 
And  now  she  thunders  from  the  Grecian  walls. 
Mars  hov'ring  o'er  his  Troy,  his  terror  shrouds 
In  gloomy  tempests  and  a  night  of  clouds  : 
Now  through  each  Trojan  heart  he  fury  pours 
With  voice  divine  from  Ilion's  topmost  towers  : 
Now  shouts  to  Simois,  from  her  beauteous  hill  ; 
The  mountain  shook,  the  rapid  stream  stood  still. 
Above,  the  sire  of  gods  his  thunder  rolls, 
And  peals  on  peals  redoubled  rend  the  poles; 
Beneath,  stern  Neptune  shakes  the  solid  ground ; 
The  forests  wave,  the  mountains  nod  around  ; 
Through  all  their  summits  tremble  Ida's  woods. 
And  from  their  sources  boil  her  hundred  floods. 
Troy's  turrets  totter  on  the  rocking  plain. 
And  the  toss'd  navies  beat  the  heaving  main. 
Deep  in  the  dismal  regions  of  the  dead. 
The  infernal  monarch  rears  his  horrid  head, 
Leap'd  from  his  throne,  lest  Neptune's  arm  should  lay 
His  dark  dominions  open  to  the  day, 
And  pour  in  light  on  Pluto's  drear  abodes, 
Abhorr'd  by  men  and  dreadful  even  to  gods. 

Such  war  the  immortals  wage  ;  such  horrors  rend 
The  world's  vast  concave,  when  the  gods  contend. 

XX,  47-66.    Pope. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  6^ 


THE    RIVER   SCAMANDER  BATTLES  WITH  ACHILLES 

Thus  as  he  spake  from  ofiE  the  lofty  bank 
Achilles  springing  in  mid  current  plung'd  ; 
Then  high  the  swelling  stream,  tumultuous,  rose 
In  all  its  angry  flood  ;  and  with  a  roar 
As  of  a  bellowing  bull,  cast  forth  to  land       *• 
The  num'rous  corpses  by  Achilles  slain ; 
And  many  living,  in  his  cavern'd  bed 
Concealed,  behind  the  whirling  waters  sav'd. 
Fierce,  round  Achilles,  rose  the  boiling  wave, 
And  on  his  shield  descending,  drove  him  down  ; 
Nor  mieht  he  keep  his  foothold  ;  but  he  grasp'd 
A  lofty  elm,  well-grown,  which  from  the  clifif 
Uprooted,  all  the  bank  had  torn  away, 
And  with  its  tangled  branches  check'd  the  flow 
Of  the  fair  river,  which  with  all  its  length 
It  bridg'd  across  ;  then  springing  from  the  deep, 
Swiftly  he  fled  in  terror  o'er  the  plain. 
Nor  ceas'd  the  mighty  river,  but  pursued. 
With  darkly-ruflling  crest,  intent  to  stay 
Achilles'  course,  and  save  the  Trojan  host. 
Far  as  a  jav'lin's  flight  he  rush'd,  in  speed 
Like  the  dark  hunter  eagle,  strongest  deem'd, 
And  swiftest  wing'd  of  all  the  feather'd  race. 
So  on  he  sped ;  loud  rattled  on  his  breast 
His  brazen  armour  as  before  the  god, 
CoNv'ring,  he  fled  ;  the  god  behind  him  still 
With  thund'ring  sound  pursued.    As  when  a  man 
From  some  dark-water'd  spring  through  trenches  leads, 
'Mid  plants  and  gardens,  th'  irrigating  stream. 
And,  spade  in  hand,  th'  appointed  channel  clears  : 
Down  flows  the  stream  anon,  its  pebbly  bed 
Disturbing  ;  fast  it  flows  with  bubbling  sound, 
Down  the  steep  slope,  o'ertaking  him  who  leads, — 
Achilles  so  th'  advancing  wave  o'ertook. 
Though  great  his  speed  ;  but  man  must  yield  to  gods. 
Oft  as  Achilles,  swift  of  foot,  essay'd 
To  turn  and  stand,  and  know  if  all  the  gods, 


64  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Who  dwell  in  heav'n,  were  leagued  to  daunt  his  soul ; 
So  oft  the  heav'n-born  river's  mighty  wave 
Above  his  shoulders  dash'd  ;  in  deep  distress 
He  sprang  on  high;  then  rush'd  the  flood  below, 
And  bore  him  off  his  legs,  and  wore  away 
The  soil  beneath  his  feet ;  then,  groaning,  thus, 
As  up  to  heav'n  he  look'd,  Achilles  cried: 

XXI,  269-312.     Derby. 

THE    DEATH    OF    HECTOR 

He  spake,  and  brandishing  his  massive  spear, 
Hurled  it,  nor  missed,  but  in  the  centre  smote 
The  buckler  of  Pelides.     Far  away 
It  bounded  from  the  brass,  and  he  was  vexed 
To  see  that  the  swift  weapon  from  his  hand 
Had  flown  in  vain.     He  stood  perplexed  and  sad; 
No  second  spear  had  he.    He  called  aloud 
On  the  white-bucklered  chief,  Deiphobus, 
To  bring  another ;  but  that  chief  was  far. 
And  Hector  saw  that  it  was  so,  and  said  : 

"  Ah  me!  the  gods  have  summoned  me  to  die. 
......     My  hour  at  last  is  come; 

Yet  not  ingloriously  or  passively 

I  die,  but  first  will  do  some  valiant  deed, 

Of  which  mankind  shall  hear  in  after  time." 

He  spake,  and  drew  the  keen-edged  sword  that  hung, 
Massive  and  finely  tempered,  at  his  side. 
And  sprang, — as  when  an  eagle  high  in  heaven. 
Through  the  thick  clouds,  darts  downward  to  the  plain 
To  clutch  some  tender  lamb  or  timid  hare. 
So  Hector,  brandishing  that  keen-edged  sw©rd, 
Sprang  forward,  while  Achilles  opposite 
Leaped  toward  him,  all  on  fire  with  savage  hate. 
And  holding  his  bright  buckler,  nobly  wrought, 
Before  him.     On  his  shining  helmet  waved 
The  fourfold  crest;  there  tossed  the  golden  tufts 
With  which  the  hand  of  Vulcan  lavishly 
Had  decked  it.     As  in  the  still  hours  of  night 
Hesper  goes  forth  among  the  host  of  stars, 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  65 

The  fairest  light  of  heaven,  so  brightly  shone, 

Brandished  in  the  right  hand  of  Peleus'  son, 

The  spear's  keen  blade,  as,  confident  to  slay 

The  noble  Hector,  o'er  his  glorious  form 

His  quick  eye  ran,  exploring  where  to  plant 

The  surest  wound.     The  glittering  mail  of  brass 

Won  from  the  slain  Patroclus  guarded  well 

Each  part,  save  only  where  the  collar-bones 

Divide  the  shoulder  from  the  neck,  and  there 

Appeared  the  throat,  the  spot  where  life  is  most 

In  peril.    Through  that  part  the  noble  son 

Of  Peleus  drave  his  spear;  it  went  quite  through 

The  tender  neck,  and  yet  the  brazen  blade  ^ 

Cleft  not  the  wind-pipe,  and  the  power  to  speak 

Remained.     The  Trojan  fell  amid  the  dust. 

XX H,  358-407.    Bryant. 

As  the  first  book  is  the  prologue  to  the  main  action 
of  the  Iliad^  so  the  twenty-third  and  twenty-fourth 
books  form  the  epilogue.  The  story  of  Achilles'  wrath 
is  fully  told;  there  remain  but  two  matters  about 
which  the  poet  may  fairly  inform  us,  though  they  are 
not  strictly  necessary  to  the  plot — the  burial  of  Patro- 
clus and  the  disposition  of  Hector's  body.  To  the 
Greek  mind  these  seemed  matters  of  the  highest 
importance,  far  more  so  than  to  us.  In  the  twenty- 
third  book,  Achilles  makes  mourning  for  Patroclus, 
and  has  a  stately  pyre  of  wood  erected,  on  which  he 
lays  the  body  and  burns  it,  together  with  twelve  Tro- 
jan victims  and  with  animal  sacrifices.  The  ashes 
are  placed  in  an  urn,  and  a  mound  of  earth  heaped 
over  it.  Games  are  then  celebrated  in  honor  of  the 
dead.  The  last  book  tells  of  Hector.  Each  day 
Achilles  has  dragged  his  body  behind  his  chariot 
around  the  body  of  Patroclus,  and  thinks  to  dishonor 
it  still  more.      But  his   mother,  Thetis,  at  the  bidding 


66  Homer  to  Theocritus 

of  Zeus,  tells  Achilles  to  give  back  Hector's  body  to 
Priam  for  a  ransom.  Priam  enters  the  camp  at  night, 
under  the  escort  of  Hermes,  bearing  a  rich  ransom  to 
Achilles.  Achilles  receives  him  kindly,  and  delivers 
the  body  to  him,  granting  also  a  truce  from  battle  for 
eleven  days.  During  this  time  the  funeral  rites  of  Hec 
tor  are  performed,  with  an  account,  of  which  the  poem 
closes.     Two  passages  from  these  books  are  added: 

PRIAM'S    SUPPLICATION    TO   ACHILLES 

Unmarked  the  royal  Priam  entered  in, 
And,  coming  to  Achilles,  clasped  his  knees, 
And  kissed  those  fearful  slaughter-dealing  hands, 
By  which  so  many  of  his  sons  had  died. 

And  thus  King  Priam  supplicating  spake  : 

"Think  of  thy  father,  an  old  man  like  me, 
God-like  Achilles!     On  the  dreary  verge 
Of  closing  life  he  stands,  and  even  now 
Haply  is  fiercely  pressed  by  those  who  dwell 
Around  him,  and  has  none  to  shield  his  age 
From  war  and  its  disasters.    Yet  his  heart 
Rejoices  when  he  hears  thou  yet  dost  live. 
And  every  day  he  hopes  that  his  dear  son 
Will  come  again  from  Troy.     My  lot  is  hard. 
For  I  was  father  of  the  bravest  sons 
In  all  wide  Troy,  and  none  are  left  me  now. 
Fifty  were  with  me  when  the  men  of  Greece 
Arrived  upon  our  coast ;  nineteen  of  these 
Owned  the  same  mother  and  the  rest  were  born 
Within  my  palaces.     Remorseless  Mars 
Already  had  laid  lifeless  most  of  these, 
And  Hector,  whom  I  cherished  most,  whose  arm 
Defended  both  our  city  and  ourselves, 
Him  didst  thou  lately  slay  while  combating 
For  his  dear  country.     For  his  sake  I  come 
To  the  Greek  fleet,  and  to  redeem  his  corse 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  ^^ 

I  bring  uncounted  ransom.     O,  revere 

The  gods,  Achilles,  and  be  merciful, 

Calling  to  mind  thy  father!  happier  he 

Than  I;  for  I  have  borne  what  no  man  else 

That  dwells  on  earth  could  bear, — have  laid  my  lips 

Upon  the  hand  of  him  who  slew  my  son." 

He  spake:  Achilles  sorrowfully  thought 

Of  his  own  father.     By  the  hand  he  took 

The  suppliant,  and  with  gentle  force  removed 

The  old  man  from  him.     Both  in  memory 

Of  those  they  loved  were  weeping.    The  old  king, 

With  many  tears,  and  rolling  in  the  dust 

Before  Achilles,  mourned  his  gallant  son. 

Achilles  sorrowed  for  his  father's  sake, 

And  then  bewailed  Patroclus,  and  the  sound 

Of  lamentation  filled  the  tent. 

XXIV,  600-648.     Bryant. 

THE    LAMENTATION    OVER    HECTOR'S    BODY 

The  throng  gave  way  and  let  the  chariot  pass  : 
And  having  brought  it  to  the  royal  halls, 
On  a  fair  couch  they  laid  the  corse,  and  placed 
Singers  beside  it,  leaders  of  the  dirge, 
Who  sang  a  sorrowful,  lamenting  strain. 
And  all  the  women  answered  it  with  sobs. 
White-armed  Andromache  in  both  her  hands 
Took  warlike  Hector's  head,  and  over  it 
Began  the  lamentation  midst  them  all: 

"  Thou  has  died  young,  my  husband,  leaving  me 
In  this  thy  home  a  widow,  and  one  son, 
An  infant  yet.    To  an  unhappy  pair 
He  owes  his  birth,  and  never  will,  I  fear. 
Bloom  into  youth;  for  ere  that  day  will  Troy 
Be  overthrown,  since  thou,  its  chief  defence. 
Art  dead,  the  guardian  of  its  walls  and  all 
Its  noble  matrons  and  its  speechless  babes, 
Yet  to  be  carried  captive  far  away. 
And  I  among  them,  in  the  hollow  barks; 
And  thou,  my  son,  wilt  either  go  with  me, 


66  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Where  thou  shalt  toil  at  menial  tasks  for  some 

Pitiless  master;  or  perhaps  some  Greek 

Will  seize  thy  little  arm,  and  in  his  rage 

Will  hurl  thee  from  a  tower  and  dash  thee  dead, 

Remembering  how  thy  father,  Hector,  slew 

His  brother,  son,  or  father  ;  for  the  hand 

Of  Hector  forced  full  many  a  Greek  to  bite 

The  dust  of  earth.     Not  slow  to  smite  was  he 

In  the  fierce  conflict ;  therefore  all  who  dwell 

Within  the  city  sorrow  for  his  fall. 

Thou  bringest  an  unutterable  grief, 

0  Hector,  on  thy  parents,  and  on  me 

The  sharpest  sorrows.    Thou  didst  not  stretch  forth 
Thy  hands  to  me,  in  dying,  from  thy  couch. 
Nor  speak  a  word  to  comfort  me,  which  I 
Might  ever  think  of,  night  and  day,  with  tears." 

Helen,  last  of  all. 
Took  up  the  lamentation,  and  began:  — 

"  O  Hector,  who  wert  dearest  to  my  heart 
Of  all  my  husband's  brothers,  —  for  the  wife 
Am  I  of  godlike  Paris,  him  whose  fleet 
Brought  me  to  Troy,  —  would  I  had  sooner  died  ! 
And  now  the  twentieth  year  is  passed  since  first 

1  came  a  stranger  from  my  native  shore, 
Yet  have  I  never  heard  from  thee  a  word 
Of  anger  or  reproach.    And  when  the  sons 
Of  Priam,  and  his  daughters,  and  the  wives 
Of  Priam's  sons,  in  all  their  fair  array. 
Taunted  me  grievously,  or  Hecuba 
Herself,  —  for  Priam  ever  was  to  me 

A  gracious  father,  —  thou  didst  take  my  part 

With  kindly  admonitions,  and  restrain 

Their  tongues  with  soft  address  and  gentle  words. 

Therefore  my  heart  is  grieved,  and  I  bewail 

Thee  and  myself  at  once,  —  unhappy  me  ! 

For  now  I  have  no  friend  in  all  wide  Troy, — 

None  to  be  kind  to  me  :  they  hate  me  all." 

XXIV,  Qi  1-987.     Bryant. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE   ODYSSEY.       HOMER  AND   TROY 

The  Trojan  War  after  the  Iliad — The  Epic  Cycle  —  The 
Story  of  the  Odyssey  —  Its  Structure  —  Analysis  of  the 
Poem — The  Adventures  of  Telemachus — Odysseus  reaches 
the  Land  of  the  Phaeacians  and  relates  his  Adventures 
to  Alcinous  —  His  Arrival  at  Ithaca  —  The  Slaying  of  the 
Suitors  —  The  Recognition  of  Odysseus  by  Penelope  —  The 
Homeric  Age  —  Homeric  Geography — Homeric  Society — 
Homeric  Theology  —  Troy  —  The  Mycenaean  Age  —  The 
Homeric  Question. 

Although  the  Iliad  gives  the  complete  story  of  the 
Wrath  of  Achilles^  it  not  only  presupposes  an  acquaint- 
ance on  the  part  of  the  hearer  with  the  events  of  the 
first  nine  years  of  the  war,  but  also  looks  forward  to 
the  completion  of  the  story  of  the  expedition  against 
Troy.  The  fall  of  Troy  is  predicted,  and  the  death  of 
Achilles;  while  the  fate  of  other  actors  in  the  narrative 
is  darkly  foreshadowed.  Now  the  Greeks  possessed 
a  series  of  epic  poems  by  various  hands  and  of  differ- 
ent dates,  arranged  so  as  to  form  a  continuous  history 
of  the  mythical  world.  This  series  was  called  by  them 
the  Epic  Cycle.  It  began  with  the  marriage  of 
Heaven  and  Earth,  and  ended  with  the  slaying  of 
Odysseus  by  his  son  Telegonus.  The  last  eight  poems 
of  the  Epic  Cycle  contained  a  continuous,  although 
not  always  a  consistent,  account  of  the  Trojan  War, 
thus  forming  a  smaller  Trojan  Cycle  within  the  larger 
series.  The  place  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  of  Homer 
in  the  Trojan  Cycle  may  be  briefly  indicated. 

69 


70  Homer  to  Theocritus 

As  we  have  already  seen,  the  Cypria^  of  doubtful 
authorship,  brought  the  story  of  the  Trojan  expedition 
down  through  the  first  nine  years  of  the  war.  Then 
came  the  Iliad.  After  the  Iliad  the  ^thiopis^  by 
Arctinus  of  Miletus  (about  776  B.  C),  took  up  the 
story.  The  queen  of  the  Amazons,  Penthesileia,  comes 
to  the  aid  of  Troy,  but  is  slain  by  Achilles.  Achilles 
is  slain  by  an  arrow,  shot  by  Paris  but  directed  by 
Apollo,  which  wounds  him  in  the  heel,  where  alone  he 
is  vulnerable.  Ajax  and  Odysseus  contend  for  Achil- 
les' armor,  which  is  awarded  to  the  latter.  Ajax 
takes  his  own  life.  Then  came  the  Little  Iliad^  of 
doubtful  authorship  (of  about  700  B.  C).  Philoctetes 
is  brought  from  the  isle  of  Lemnos  for  the  sake  of 
the  bow  and  arrows  of  Heracles  which  he  possesses, 
without  which  Troy  cannot  be  taken.  Odysseus 
devises  the  stratagem  of  the  wooden  horse  filled  with 
armed  warriors.  In  the  Ilioupei-sis  {Destruction  of  Troy), 
by  Arctinus  of  Miletus,  the  wooden  horse  is  taken 
into  the  city  by  the  Trojans  themselves.  Troy  is 
captured  and  burned.  Laocoon  and  one  of  his  sons 
are  strangled  by  the  huge  serpents,  ^neas  makes  his 
escape,  but  Priam  is  killed  by  Neoptolemus,  the  son 
of  Achilles.  The  Greeks  start  for  home.  The  Nostei 
{^Return  of  the  Heroes),  by  Agias  of  Troezen  (about  750 
B.  C),  dealt  chiefly  with  the  return  of  Menelaus  and 
Agamemnon  and  the  slaying  of  the  latter  by  his  wife, 
Clytemnestra.  The  Odyssey  comes  next  in  the  series, 
and  after  the  Odyssey  the  Telegoneia,  a  poem  of  much 
later  date  than  the  others. 

The  theme  of  the  Odyssey  is  the  Return  of  Odysseus. 
The  difficulties  that  beset  him  after  he  leaves  Troy 
furnish  the  elements  of  the  plot.      He   is  constantly 


The  Odyssey.      Homer  and  Troy         71 

thwarted  on  his  homeward  journey  by  Poseidon,  and 
even  after  he  reaches  Ithaca  he  finds  the  insolent  suit- 
ors of  his  wife,  Penelope,'  in  possession  of  his  house. 
How  Odysseus,  the  man  of  many  resources,  surmounts 
all  these  difficulties,  regaining  at  last  both  his  native 
land  and  his  wife — this  is  the  story  of  the  poem. 

But  the  poet  does  not  recount  the  adventures  of 
his  hero  in  chronological  order,  beginning  with  the 
departure  from  Troy.  Like  Vergil  and  Milton  he 
plunges  in  medias  res,  finding  a  later  occasion  for  the 
recital  of  preceding  events  by  the  hero  himself. 
Selecting  a  critical  moment  in  the  tenth  year  after  the 
fall  of  Troy,  he  first  briefly  depicts  the  present  predic- 
ament of  Odysseus  and  the  situation  of  affairs  at  his 
home  in  Ithaca,  and  then  begins  the  narrative.  At 
first  we  follow  the  adventures  of  Telemachus,  the  son 
of  Odysseus,  as  he  searches  for  news  of  his  father. 
Later  on  we  are  transferred  to  Calypso's  isle,  where 
Odysseus  is  detained  by  the  fair  enchantress.  His 
release  is  obtained  by  the  etforts  of  Athene.  He 
reaches  the  land  of  the  Phaeacians,  where  he  is  enter- 
tained by  King  Alcinous.  There  he  tells  of  his  former 
adventures,  a  narrative  which  occupies  about  one- 
fourth  of  the  whole  poem.  Finally  he  reaches  Ithaca, 
where  he  slays  the  suitors  and  is  restored  to  his  wife 
and  possessions.  By  this  scheme  of  composition  the 
poet  greatly  enhances  the  plot  and  prevents  his 
story  from  becoming  a  mere  chronicle  of  adventures. 
The  action  of  the  poem  covers  just  forty-two  days. 
The  following  outline  by  books  will  show  its  struc- 
ture: 

I-IV.  The  quest  of  Telemachus  for  his  father. 
V.    Odysseus  leaves  Calypso's    isle   and    reaches  the 


72  Homer  to  Theocritus 

land  of  the  Phaeacians.  This  book  covers  twenty- 
four  days.  VI-XII.  Odysseus  among  the  Phseacians. 
He  recites  his  adventures  during  the  two  years  between 
the  fall  of  Troy  and  his  captivity  on  Calypso's  isle, 
where  he  was  detained  seven  years.  XIII-XV.  The 
return  of  Odysseus  to  Ithaca.  The  return  of  Tel- 
emachus.  XVI-XXIV.  Odysseus  slays  the  suitors, 
and  is  recognized  by  Penelope  and  his  father, 
Laertes. 

As  in  the  Iliad^  the  theme  is  given  in  the  invoca- 
tion to  the  Muse,  which  is  followed  by  a  statement  of 
the  situation. 

Tell  me,  O  Muse,  of  that  sagacious  man 
Who,  having  overthrown  the  sacred  town 
Of  Ilium,  wandered  far  and  visited 
The  capitals  of  many  nations,  learned 
The  customs  of  their  dwellers,  and  endured 
Great  sufifering  on  the  deep  ;  his  life  was  oft 
In  peril,  as  he  labored  to  bring  back 
His  comrades  to  their  homes.     He  saved  them  not. 
Though  earnestly  he  strove  ;  they  perished  all, 
Through  their  own  folly ;  for  they  banqueted, 
Madmen!  upon  the  oxen  of  the  Sun,  — 
The  all-o'erlooking  Sun,  who  cut  them  ofif 
From  their  return.    O  goddess,  virgin-child 
Of  Jove,  relate  some  part  of  this  to  me. 
Now  all  the  rest,  as  many  as  escaped 
The  cruel  doom  of  death,  were  at  their  homes 
Safe  from  the  perils  of  the  war  and  sea, 
While  him  alone,  who  pined  to  see  his  home 
And  wife  again,  Calypso,  queenly  nymph, 
Great  among  goddesses,  detained  within 
Her  spacious  grot,  in  hope  that  he  might  yet 
Become  her  husband.     Even  when  the  years 
Brought  round  the  time  in  which  the  gods  decreed 
That  he  should  reach  again  his  dwelling-place 
In  Ithaca,  though  he  was  with  his  friends, 


The  Odyssey.      Homer  and  Troy  73 

His  toils  were  not  yet  ended.    Of  the  gods 
All  pitied  him  save  Neptune,  who  pursued 
With  wrath  implacable  the  godlike  chief, 
Ulysses,  even  to  his  native  land. 

I,  1-29.     Bryant. 

The  gods  assemble  on  Olympus  while  Poseidon  is 
absent  among  the  Ethiopians.  Athene  intercedes 
with  Zeus  for  Odysseus: 

"But  I  am  grieved 
For  sage  Ulysses,  that  most  wretched  man, 
So  long  detained,  repining,  and  afar 
From  those  he  loves,  upon  a  distant  isle 
Girt  by  the  waters  of  the  central  deep, — 
A  forest  isle,  where  dwells  a  deity, 
The  daughter  of  wise  Atlas,  him  who  knows 
The  ocean  to  its  utmost  depths,  and  holds 
Upright  the  lofty  columns  which  divide 
The  earth  from  heaven.    The  daughter  there  detains 
The  unhappy  chieftain,  and  with  flattering  words 
Would  win  him  to  forget  his  Ithaca. 
Meanwhile,  impatient  to  behold  the  smokes 
That  rise  from  hearths  in  his  own  land,  he  pines 
And  willingly  would  die.     Is  not  thy  heart, 
Olympius,  touched  by  this?  And  did  he  not 
Pay  grateful  sacrifice  to  thee  beside 
The  Argive  fleet  in  the  broad  realm  of  Troy? 
Why  then,  O  Jove,  art  thou  so  wroth  with  him?  " 

1, 62-80.     Bryant. 

It  is  decreed  by  Zeus  that -Odysseus  is  to  return 
home  in  spite  of  Poseidon.  Athene  goes  to  Ithaca, 
appearing  disguised  to  Telemachus,  who  tells  her  of 
his  troubles: 

Again  Telemachus,  the  prudent,  spake: 
"  Since  thou  dost  ask  me,  stranger,  know  that  once 
Rich  and  illustrious  might  this  house  be  called 
While  yet  the  chief  was  here.     But  now  the  gods 
Have  grown  unkind  and  willed  it  otherwise; 


74  Homer  to  Theocritus 

They  make  his  fate  a  mystery  beyond 
The  fate  of  other  men.     I  should  not  grieve 
So  deeply  for  his  loss  if  he  had  fallen 
With  his  companions  on  the  field  of  Troy, 
Or  midst  his  kindred  when  the  war  was  o'er. 
Then  all  the  Greeks  had  built  his  monument, 
And  he  had  left  his  son  a  heritage 
Of  glory.     Now  has  he  become  the  prey 
Of  Harpies,  perishing  ingloriously, 
Unseen,  his  fate  unheard  of,  and  has  left 
Mourning  and  grief,  my  portion.     Not  for  him 
Alone  I  grieve ;  the  gods  have  cast  on  me 
Yet  other  hardships.    All  the  chiefs  who  rule 
The  isles,  Dulichium,  Same,  and  the  groves 
That  shade  Zacynthus,  and  who  bear  the  sway 
In  rugged  Ithaca,  have  come  to  woo 
My  mother,  and  from  day  to  day  consume 
My  substance.    She  rejects  not  utterly 
Their  hateful  suit,  and  yet  she  cannot  bear 
To  end  it  by  a  marriage.    Thus  they  waste 
My  heritage,  and  soon  will  seek  my  life." 

1,286-311.    Bryant. 

Athene  encourages  Telemachus  to  go  forth  to  seek 
tidings  of  his  father,  Telemachus  orders  the  suitors 
from  the  house,  but  is  answered  with  insults.  He 
then  (Book  II)  calls  an  assembly  of  the  elders  of  his 
own  people,  but  appeals  to  them  in  vain  to  help  him. 
One  of  the  suitors  thus  complains  to  him  of  Penelope: 

"What  word  is  this  thou  speakest  to  our  shame, 
Who  dost  with  foul  disgrace  our  honour  brand? 
Know,  then,  that  not  the  Achaians  are  to  blame, 
But  thine  own  mother,  who  doth  understand 
Sleights  more  than  all  the  women  in  the  land. 
For  now  behold  a  three  years'  space  is  gone. 
Even  as  I  speak  the  fourth  is  close  at  hand. 
Since  with  vain  hopes  she  hath  our  hearts  undone, 
For  bent  on  endless  wiles  she  promises  each  one. 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         75 

Now  of  all  others  hearken  this  device 
Which  in  her  mind  the  queen  did  frame.     She  reared 
There  in  her  halls  a  mighty  loom  of  price. 
Anon  before  the  suitors  she  appeared, 
And  said  :  *  Young  men,  my  suitors,  what  I  feared 
Is  come  ;  divine  Odysseus  is  no  more  : 
Woo  ye,  but  leave  my  widowhood  revered 
A  little  while  until  my  task  is  o'er, 
Lest  my  long-purposed  work  fall  void  for  evermore. 

I  for  Laertes  weave  a  funeral  sheet 
Against  the  final  debt  that  he  must  pay  :^ 
And  I  were  shamed  the  Achaian  dames  to  meet, 
Should  the  long  slumber  find  but  shroudless  clay 
Of  one  who  owned  much  lordship  in  his  day.' 
So  did  she  speak  amid  the  suitor-throng, 
And  so  persuaded  our  large  heartgave  way. 
Daily  she  weaved  ;  then  working  grievous  wrong, 
By  night  the  woof  unwound,  with  torches  ranged  along. 

So  for  three  years  she  prospered  in  her  wile. 
But  when  the  fourth  came  with  the  seasons'  flight, 
One  of  her  women,  making  known  the  guile. 
Showed  us  the  queen  unwinding  in  the  night. 
So  force,  not  will,  constrained  her  to  the  right. 
Know  then  the  suitors'  answer  in  thy  mind. 
And  know  Achaia  here  in  the  open  light — 
Send  to  her  sire  thy  mother,  to  be  assign'd 
To  whoso  in  his  eyes  and  hers  shall  favour  find." 

11,85-114.    Worsley. 

Telemachus  sets  sail  for  Pylos  and  Sparta,  accom- 
panied by  Athene  in  the  guise  of  Mentor.  At  Pylos 
(Book  III)  the  aged  Nestor  tells  of  the  fate  of  the 
Greek  chieftains  who  left  Troy,  but  has  no  tidings  of 
Odysseus.  At  Sparta  (Book  IV)  Menelaus  and  Helen 
entertain  him.  Helen  recognizes  him  by  his  likeness 
to  his  father.  "None,  I  say,  have  I  ever  yet  seen  so 
like  another,  man  nor  woman — wonder  comes  over  me 


76  Homer  to  Theocritus  \ 

i 

as  I  look  on  him — as  this  man  is  like  the  son  of  great-  ] 

hearted  Odysseus,   Telemachus,  whom  he  left  a  new-  ; 

born  babe   in   his   house,    when   for  the   sake   of   me,  \ 

shameless  woman  that  I  was,  ye  Achseans  came  up  under  j 

Troy  with  bold  war  in  your  hearts."     At  length  Tel-  I 

emachus  questions  Menelaus  for  tidings  of  his  father.  | 

Then  Menelaus  relates  how  once,  on  the  journey  from  I 

Troy,  when  becalmed  on  an  island  near  the  mouth  of  | 

the   Nile,  he   had   laid  hold  of  Proteus,  the   Old  Man  i 

of  the  Sea,  and  had  compelled  him  to  declare  the  fate  ' 

of    his    companions    and    to    direct    him    homeward,  I 

Proteus  told  of  the  death  of  Ajax,  son  of  Oileus,  and  j 

of  Agamemnon;  "a  third,"   he  added,    "still   living,  \ 

lingers  yet  on  the  wide  sea. "     Menelaus  would  fain  | 

know  his  name.      Proteus  answ^ered :  I 

i 
"  *It  is  Laertes'  son,  whose  dwelling  stands  j 

In  Ithaca.     I  saw  him  in  an  isle,  1 

And  in  the  cavern-palace  of  the  nymph  1 

Calypso,  weeping  bitterly,  for  she  ^ 

Constrains  his  stay.     He  cannot  leave  the  isle  ] 

For  his  own  country;  ship  arrayed  with  oars  ] 

And  seamen  has  he  none  to  bear  him  o'er  i 

The  breast  of  the  great  ocean.     But  for  thee,  J 
'Tis  not  decreed  that  thou  shalt  meet  thy  fate 
And  die,  most  noble  Menelaus,  where 

The  steeds  of  Argos  in  her  pastures  graze.  I 

The  gods  will  send  thee  to  the  Elysian  plain,  ] 

And  to  the  end  of  the  earth,  the  dwelling-place  j 

Of  fair-haired  Rhadamanthus.     There  do  men  | 

Lead  easiest  lives.     No  snow,  no  bitter  cold,  ' 

No  beating  rains,  are  there  ;  the  ocean-deeps  \ 

With  murmuring  breezes  from  the  West  refresh  j 

The  dwellers.    Thither  shalt  thou  go;  for  thou  ''\ 

Art  Helen's  spouse,  and  son-in-law  of  Jove.'  "  \ 

IV,  709-727.     Bryant.       ' 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Tfoy         77 

Meanwhile  at  Ithaca  the  suitors  lay  a  plot  to  slay 
Telemachus  on  his  return.  Penelope  is  overwhelmed 
with  grief  at  the  news  of  her  son's  departure,  but  she 
is  consoled  by  a  dream  sent  by  Pallas  Athene. 

At  the  opening  of  the  fifth  book  we  are  transferred 
to  Calypso's  isle,  leaving  Telemachus  at  Sparta. 
Zeus,  at  the  instance  of  Athene,  commands  Hermes  to 
bear  a  message  to  Calypso: 

So  spake  he,  nor  did  Hermes  aught  withhold. 
He  nimbly  underneath  his  feet  made  fast 
Fair-shining  sandals  of  ambrosial  gold, 
Wherewith  the  wide  sea,  with  the  blowing  blast. 
And  land  unmeasured  he  of  old  had  passed; 
Then  took  the  wand  which  can  men's  eyes  subdue, 
Whomso  he  listeth  in  long  sleep  to  cast. 
And  sleeping  wake  to  breathe  and  feel  anew — 
This  holding  in  his  hand  the  slayer  of  Argus  flew. 

He  on  Pieria  pitched,  and  in  the  sea 
Shot  from  the  ether.     Him  the  waves  upbore 
Like  to  some  bird  that  on  the  watch  for  prey 
Searches  the  barren  sea-gulfs  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  dips  her  feathers  in  the  ocean  hoar. 
So  Hermes  through  the  yielding  waters  drave 
Till  the  nymph's  island  rose  his  eyes  before. 
Gladly  he  came  forth  from  the  dark -blue  wave, 
And  through  the  land  walked  on,  and  came  to  a  great  cave. 

There  dwelt  the  fair-haired  nymph,  and  her  he  found 
Within.    Bright  flames,  that  on  the  hearth  did  play. 
Fragrance  of  cedap breathed  around, 
And  fume  of  incense  wafted  every  way. 
There  her  melodious  voice  the  livelong  day, 
Timing  the  golden  shuttle,  rose  and  fell. 
And  round  the  cave  a  leafy  wood  there  lay. 
Where  green  trees  waved  o'er  many  a  shady  dell, 
Alder  and  poplar  black  and  cypress  sweet  of  smeU 


78  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Thither  the  long-winged  birds  retired  to  sleep, 
Falcon  and  owl  and  sea-crow  loud  of  tongue, 
Who  plies  her  business  in  the  watery  deep; 
And  round  the  hollow  cave  her  tendrils  flung 
A  tender  vine,  with  purpling  clusters  hung; 
And  fountains  four,  in  even  order  set, 
Near  one  another,  from  the  stone  out-sprung, 
Streaming  four  ways  their  crystal-showery  jet 
Through  meads  of  parsley  soft  and  breathing  violet. 

So  that  a  god,  if  any  came  that  way. 
For  wonder,  admiration,  and  delight 
Would  stand  agaze,  as  Hermes  gazed  that  day; 
Who,  having  satisfied  his  soul  with  sight, 
Moved  where  the  broad  cave  did  his  steps  invite. 
Nor  did  Calypso,  nymph  divine,  I  trow. 
His  features  or  his  form  not  read  aright. 
For  never  do  the  gods— not  even  though 
Asunder  far  they  dwell — each  other  fail  to  know. 

But  he,  large-hearted  one,  Odysseus  brave. 
Within  was  found  not.     He  sat  weeping  sore 
Hard  by  the  breakings  of  the  barren  wave, 
Where  he  did  oft  afflict  his  soul  before. 
And  through  the  floods  unfruitful  evermore 
Yearned  a  set  gaze  with  many  a  tear  and  groan. 
Heart-broken  captive  on  a  hated  shore. 

V.  43-83.     Worsley. 

Calypso,    bidden   by    Hermes,    releases   Odysseus, 
though  not  without  an  effort  to  induce  him  to  stay. 

"Child  of  Laertes,  wouldst  thou  fain  depart 
Hence  to  thine  own  dear  fatherland?     Farewell! 
Yet,  couldst  thou  read  the  sorrow  and  the  smart, 
With  me  in  immortality  to  dwell 
Thou  wouldst  rejoice  and  love  my  mansion  well. 
Deeply  and  long  thou  yearnest  for  thy  wife; 
Yet  her  in  beauty  I  perchance  excel.       •     \ 
Beseems  not  one  who  hath  but  mortal  life 
With  forms  of  deathless  mould  to  challenge  a  vain  strife.**" 


The  Odyssey.      Homer  and  Troy  79 

To  whom  the  wise  Odysseus  answering  spake: 
"O  nymph  Calypso,  much  revered,  cease  now 
From  anger,  nor  be  wroth  for  my  wife's  sake. 
All  this  I  know  and  do  myself  avow. 
Well  may  Penelope  in  form  and  brow 
And  stature  seem  interior  far  to  thee,' 
For  she  is  mortal,  and  immortal  thou. 
Yet  even  thus  'tis  very  dear  to  me 
My  long-desired  return  and  ancient  home  to  see." 

V,  203-220.    Worsley. 

Odysseus  builds  a  huge  raft  and  sets  sail.  On  the 
eighteenth  day,  as  he  nears  the  Phaeacian  land, 
Poseidon  spies  him  and  sends  a  great  storm.  His 
raft  is  wrecked,  but  a  sea-nymph  gives  him  her  veil  to 
keep  him  from  sinking.  For  two  days  he  is  driven  by 
the  waves,  narrowly  escaping  death  on  the  rocks,  but 
Athene  finally  directs  him  to  the  mouth  of  a  river. 
He  swims  ashore,  takes  shelter  in  a  thicket,  and  falls 
asleep  in  a  bed  of  dry  leaves. 

We  come  now  (Book  VI)  to  one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated scenes  in  the  poem.  Athene  appears  in  a  dream 
to  Nausicaa,  daughter  of  Alcinous,  king  of  the  Phaea- 
cians,  taking  on  the  likeness  of  a  playmate  of  the 
princess,  and  thus  addresses  her: 

"  Nausicaa,  has  thy  mother  then  brought  forth 
A  careless  housewife?     Thy  magnificent  robes 
Lie  still  neglected,  though  thy  marriage  day 
Is  near,  when  thou  art  to  array  thyself 
In  seemly  garments,  and  bestow  the  like 
On  those  who  lead  thee  to  the  bridal  rite; 
For  thus  the  praise  of  men  is  won,  and  thus 
Thy  father  and  thy  gracious  mother  both 
Will  be  rejoiced.     Now  with  the  early  dawn 
Let  us  all  hasten  to  the  washing-place. 
I  too  would  go  with  thee,  and  help  thee  there, 
That  thou  mayst  sooner  end  the  task,  for  thou 


8o  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Not  long  wilt  be  unwedded.     Thou  art  wooed 
Already  by  the  noblest  of  the  race." 

Soon  the  bright  morning  came.     Nausicaa  rose, 

Clad  royally,  as  marvelling  at  her  dream 

She  hastened  through  the  palace  to  declare 

Her  purpose  to  the  father  and  the  queen. 

She  found  them  both  within.     Her  mother  sat 

Beside  the  hearth  with  her  attendant  maids, 

And  turned  the  distaff  loaded  with  a  fleece 

Dyed  in  sea-purple.    On  the  threshold  stood 

Her  father,  going  forth  to  meet  the  chiefs 

Of  the  Phaeacians  in  a  council  where 

Their  noblest  asked  their  presence.    Then  the  maid, 

Approaching  her  beloved  father,  spake: 

"  I  pray,  dear  father,  give  command  to  make 
A  chariot  ready  for  me,  with  high  sides 
And  sturdy  wheels,  to  bear  to  the  river-brink, 
There  to  be  cleansed,  the  costly  robes  that  now 
Lie  soiled.    Thee  likewise  it  doth  well  beseem 
At  councils  to  appear  in  vestments  fresh 
And  stainless.    Thou  hast  also  in  these  halls 
Five  sons,  two  wedded,  three  in  boyhood's  bloom. 
And  ever  in  the  dance  they  need  attire 
New  from  the  wash.    All  this  must  I  provide." 

She  ended,  i@r  she  shrank  from  saying  aught 
Of  her  own  hopeful  marriage.     He  perceived 
Her  thought  and  said:   "  Mules  I  deny  thee  not. 
My  daughter,  nor  aught  else.    Go  then;  my  grooms 
Shall  make  a  carriage  ready  with  high  sides 
And  sturdy  wheels,  and  a  broad  rack  above." 

VI,  32-90.    Bryant. 

So  Nausicaa  and  her  maidens  drove  down  to  the 
river  and  washed  the  linen  garments.  Laying  these 
upon  the  beach  to  dry,  they  fell  to  playing  at  ball.  But 
the  princess,  throwing  the  ball  at  one  of  the  company, 
missed  the  girl  and  cast  the  ball  into  the  river,  whereat 
they  all  raised  a  piercing  cry.     Odysseus  was  awakened 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy  8i 

from  his  sleep,  and  crept  forth  from  the  thicket, 
hiding  his  nakedness  with  a  leafy  bough.  The  other 
maidens  fled,  but  Nausicaa  alone  stood  firm.  Odysseus 
thus  addresses  her: 

"  O  queen,  I  am  thy  suppliant,  whether  thou 
Be  mortal  or  a  goddess.     If  perchance 
Thou  art  of  that  immortal  race  who  dwell 
In  the  broad  heaven,  thou  art,  I  deem,  most  like 
To  Dian,  daughter  of  imperial  Jove, 
In  shape,  in  stature,  and  in  noble  air. 
If  mortal  and  a  dweller  of  the  earth, 
Thrice  happy  are  thy  father  and  his  queen. 
Thrice  happy  are  thy  brothers  ;  and  their  hearts 
Must  overflow  with  gladness  for  thy  sake, 
Beholding  such  a  scion  of  the  house 
Enter  the  choral  dance.     But  happiest  he 
Beyond  them  all,  who,  bringing  princely  gifts, 
Shall  bear  thee  to  his  home  a  bride  ;  for  sure 
I  never  looked  on  one  of  mortal  race. 
Woman  or  man,  like  thee,  and  as  I  gaze 
I  wonder. 

0  queen,  have  pity  on  me,  since  to  thee 

1  come  the  first  of  all.     I  do  not  know 
A  single  dweller  of  the  land  beside. 
Show  me,  I  pray,  thy  city ;  and  bestow 
Some  poor  old  robe  to  wrap  me,  —  if,  indeed, 
In  coming  hither,  thou  hast  brought  with  thee 
Aught  poor  or  coarse.    And  may  the  gods  vouchsafe 
To  thee  whatever  blessing  thou  canst  wish, 
Husband  and  home  and  wedded  harmony. 

There  is  no  better,  no  more  blessed  state. 
Than  when  the  wife  and  husband  in  accord 
Order  their  household  lovingly.    Then  those 
Repine  who  hate  them,  those  who  wish  them  well 
Rejoice,  and  they  themselves  the  most  of  all." 

VI,  187-223.    Bryant. 


82  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Nausicaa  gives  him  clothing,  and  promises  to  take 
him  to  the  city.  Odysseus,  after  bathing  and  clothing 
himself,  glows  with  beauty  and  grace,  whereat  the 
princess  whispers  to  her  maidens:  "Would  that  such 
an  one  might  be  called  my  husband,  dwelling  here, 
and  that  it  might  please  him  here  to  abide."  But  she 
prudently  directs  him  to  follow  her  only  to  the  gates 
of  the  city,  lest  some  one  of  the  baser  sort  among  the 
people  make  it  a  reproach  to  her  to  be  seen  with 
a  strange  man.  She  directs  him,  however,  tc  the 
palace  of  her  father. 

In  the  seventh  book  Odysseus  reaches  the  pala^*-  of 
Alcinous,  which  the  poet  thus  describes: 

For,  like  the  sun's  fire  or  the  moon's,  a  light 
Far  streaming  through  the  high-roofed  house  did  pp*s 
From  the  long  basement  to  the  topmost  height. 
There  on  each  side  ran  walls  of  flaming  brass. 
Zoned  on  the  summit  with  a  blue  bright  mass 
Of  cornice  ;  and  the  doors  were  framed  of  gold  ; 
Where,  underneath,  the  brazen  floor  doth  glass 
Silver  pilasters,  which  with  grace  uphold 
Lintel  of  silver  framed;  the  ring  was  burnished  gold. 

And  dogs  on  each  side  of  the  door  there  stand, 
Silver  and  gold,  the  which  in  ancient  day 
Hephaestus  wrought  with  cunning  brain  and  hand, 
And  set  for  sentinels  to  hold  the  way. 
Death  cannot  tame  them,  nor  the  years  decay. 
And  from  the  shining  threshold  thrones  were  set, 
Skirting  the  walls  in  lustrous  long  array. 
On  to  the  far  room,  where  the  women  met. 
With  many  a  rich  robe  strewn  and  woven  coverlet. 

There  the  Phaeacian  chieftains  eat  and  drink, 
While  golden  youths  on  pedestals  upbear 
Each  in  his  outstretched  hand  a  lighted  link, 
Which  nightly  on  the  roval  feast  doth  flare. 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         83 

Outside  the  courtyard  stretched  a  planted  space 
Of  orchard,  and  a  fence  environed  all  the  place. 

There  in  full  prime  the  orchard-trees  grow  tall, 
Sweet  fig,  pomegranate,  apple  fruited  fair, 
Pear  and  the  healthful  olive.     Each  and  all 
Both  summer  droughts  and  chills  of  winter  spare; 
All  the  year  round  they  flourish.     Some  the  air 
Of  Zephyr  warms  to  life,  some  doth  mature. 
Apple  grows  old  on  apple,  pear  on  pear, 
Fig  follows  fig,  vintage  doth  vintage  lure; 
Thus  the  rich  revolution  doth  for  aye  endure. 

With  well-sunned  floor  for  drying,  there  is  seen  ,r 

The  vineyard.   Here  the  grapes  they  cull,  there  tread*^ 
Here  falls  the  blossom  from  the  clusters  green;  \ 

There  the  first  blushings  by  the  suns  are  shed. 
Last,  flowers  forever  fadeless  —  bed  by  bed; 
Two  streams;  one  waters  the  whole  garden  fair; 
One  through  the  courtyard,  near  the  house,  is  led; 
Whereto  with  pitchers  all  the  folk  repair. 
All  these  the  god-sent  gifts  to  king  Alcinous  were. 

VH,  84-132.    Worsley. 

Entering  the  palace,  Odysseus  is  kindly  received 
by  the  king  and  his  queen,  Arete.  The  latter  recog- 
nizes his  garments,  and  hears  the  story  of  his  ship- 
wreck and  succor  at  the  hands  of  her  daughter. 
Alcinous  (Book  VIII)  orders  a  well-manned  ship  to 
be  made  ready  to  convey  Odysseus  to  his  home.  Mean- 
while the  minstrel  Demodocus  sings  of  the  quarrel  of 
Odysseus  and  Achilles,  whereat  Odysseus  weeps.  The 
Phaeacians  engage  in  athletic  contests.  Odysseus, 
challenged  to  show  his  skill,  at  first  declines  on  the 
ground  of  his  great  sorrow,  but  at  length,  when 
taunted  by  a  young  man,  he  rises  angrily,  and  throws 
a  huge  stone  far  beyond  the  marks  reached  by  the 
others.     Demodocus    again    sings,    this   time   of   the 


84  Homer  to  Theocritus 

loves  of  Ares  and  Aphrodite.  Alcinous  and  his  chief- 
tains bring  many  costly  presents  to  Odysseus.  At  the 
banquet  with  which  the  day  closes  Demodocus  sings 
of  the  wooden  horse.  Odysseus  weeps  again.  Alci- 
nous, noticing  this,  asks  Odysseus  his  name  and  his 
country. 

Odysseus  then  reveals  (Book  IX)  who  he  is,  and 
begins  the  story  of  his  adventures  since  leaving  Troy. 
Driven  by  a  storm  as  they  were  rounding  Cape  Malea, 
on  the  tenth  day  they  reached  the  land  of  the  Lotus- 
eaters. 

"  Whoever  tasted  once  of  that  sweet  food 
Wished  not  to  see  his  native  country  more. 
Nor  give  his  friends  the  knowledge  of  his  fate." 

Next  they  came  to  the  land  of  the  Cyclopes,  "a  fro- 
ward  and  a  lawless  folk,  who  plant  not  aught  with  their 
hands,  neither  plow.  They  have  neither  gatherings 
for  council  nor  oracles  of  law,  but  they  dwell  in  hol- 
low caves  on  the  crests  of  high  hills,  and  each  one 
utters  the  law  to  his  children  and  his  wives,  and  they 
reck  not  one  of  another."  Leaving  the  other  ships 
at  a  distance,  he  landed  with  the  crew  of  one  ship  near 
a  lofty  cave,  about  which  was  built  a  great  pen  for 
the  sheep  and  goats.  There  lived  a  man  of  monstrous 
size,  Polyphemus,  one  of  the  one-eyed  Cyclopes. 
Entering  the  cave,  the  company  ate  of  the  cheese 
stored  within  and  awaited  the  return  of  the  giant, 
though  all  but  Odysseus  were  sore  afraid.  Finally 
Polyphemus  entered,  driving  his  flocks  into  the  cave 
before  him,  then  closing  the  doorway  with  a  huge  stone. 
Spying  the  strangers,  he  questioned  them.  Odysseus 
pretended  that  his  ship  had  been  wrecked  and  asked 
for  hospitality. 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy  85 

"  The  savage  answered  not,  but  sprang, 
And,  laying  hands  on  my  companions,  seized 
Two,  whom  he  dashed  like  whelps  upon  the  ground. 
Their  brains  flowed  out,  and  weltered  where  they  fell. 
He  hewed  them  limb  from  limb  for  his  repast, 
And,  like  a  lion  of  the  mountain  wilds, 
Devoured  them  as  they  were,  and  left  no  part — 
Entrails  nor  flesh,  nor  marrowy  bones." 

IX,  327-337.    Bryant. 

Odysseus  was  tempted  to  slay  Polyphemus  as  he 
slept,  but  bethought  him  of  the  huge  door-stone  "that 
two  and  twenty  wagons  could  not  lift."  In  the  morn- 
ing the  Cyclops  ate  two  other  men,  drove  out  his 
flocks,  and  blocked  the  door  behind  him.  Then  Odys- 
seus and  his  companions  sharpened  the  end  of  a  great 
club  which  the  Cyclops  had  left  in  the  cave.  Polyphe- 
mus returned  and  seized  yet  two  other  men  for  his 
supper.  He  drank  deeply  of  a  strong  wine  which 
Odysseus  offered  him,  and  asked  the  hero's  name. 
Here  is  Odysseus'  famous  reply  and  his  account  of 
their  escape: 

"*Thy  promised  boon,  O  Cyclop!  now  I  claim, 
And  plead  my  title;  Noman  is  my  name. 
By  that  distinguish'd  from  my  tender  years, 
'Tis  what  my  parents  call  me,  and  my  peers.' 
The  giant  then:  '  Our  promised  grace  receive, 
The  hospitable  boon  we  mean  to  give: 
When  all  thy  wretched  crew  have  felt  my  power, 
Noman  shall  be  the  last  I  will  devour.' 
He  said:  then  nodding  with  the  fumes  of  wine 
Droop'd  his  huge  head,  and  snoring  lay  supine. 
His  neck  obliquely  o'er  his  shoulders  hung, 
Press'd  with  the  weight  of  sleep  that  tames  the  strong: 
There  belch'd  the  mingled  streams  of  wine  and  blood. 
And  human  flesh,  his  indigested  food. 
Sudden  I  stir  the  embers,  and  inspire 


86  Homer  to  Theocritus 

With  animating  breath  the  seeds  of  fire; 

Each  drooping  spirit  with  bold  words  repair, 

And  urge  my  train  the  dreadful  deed  to  dare. 

The  stake  now  glow'd  beneath  the  burning  bed 

(Green  as  it  was)  and  sparkled  fiery  red. 

Then  forth  the  vengeful  instrument  I  bring; 

With  beating  hearts  my  fellows  form  a  ring. 

Urged  by  some  present  god,  they  swift  let  fall 

The  pointed  torment  on  his  visual  ball. 

Myself  above  them  from  a  rising  ground 

Guide  the  sharp  stake,  and  twirl  it  round  and  round 

As  when  a  shipwright  stands  his  workmen  o'er, 

Who  ply  the  wimble,  some  huge  beam  to  bore; 

Urged  on  all  hands,  it  nimbly  spins  about. 

The  grain  deep-piercing  till  it  scoops  it  out: 

In  his  broad  eye  so  whirls  the  fiery  wood; 

From  the  pierced  pupil  spouts  the  boiling  blood; 

Singed  are  his  brows;  the  scorching  lids  grow  black; 

The  jelly  bubbles,  and  the  fibres  crack. 

And  as  when  armorers  temper  in  the  ford 

The  keen-edged  pole-ax,  or  the  shining  sword, 

The  red-hot  metal  hisses  in  the  lake. 

Thus  in  his  eye-ball  hiss'd  the  plunging  stake. 

He  sends  a  dreadful  groan,  the  rocks  around 

Through  all  their  inmost  winding  caves  resound. 

Scared  we  receded.     Forth  with  frantic  hand 

He  tore  and  dash'd  on  earth  the  gory  brand: 

Then  calls  the  Cyclops,^  all  that  round  him  dwell. 

With  voice  like  thunder,  and  a  direful  yell. 

From  all  their  dens  the  one-eyed  race  repair. 

From  rifted  rocks,  and  mountains  bleak  in  air. 

All  haste  assembled  at  his  well-known  roar, 

Inquire  the  cause,  and  crowd  the  cavern  door. 

'What  hurts  thee,  Polypheme?    What  strange  affright 

Thus  breaks  our  slumbers,  and  disturbs  the  night? 

Does  any  mortal,  in  the  unguarded  hour 

Of  sleep,  oppress  thee,  or  by  fraud  or  power? 

*Pope  uses  the  forms  of  this  word  incorrectly.  The  singular  is  Cyclops, 
not  Cyclop,  and  the  plural  Cyclopes.  The  mistake  which  Pope  makes,  though 
common,  should  be  avoided. 


The  Odyssey.      Homer  and  Troy  .       87 

Or  thieves  insidious  thy  fair  flocks  surprise?  ' 
Thus  they:  the  Cyclop  from  his  den  replies: 

*  Friends,  Noman  kills  me;  Noman,  in  the  hour 
Of  sleep,  oppresses  me  with  fraudful  power.' 

*  If  no  man  hurt  thee,  but  the  hand  divine 
Inflict  disease,  it  fits  thee  to  resign: 

To  Jove  or  thy  father  Neptune  pray.* 

The  brethren  cried,  and  instant  strode  away." 

IX,  364-414.    Pope. 

Odysseus  contrived  an  ingenious  plan  of  escape. 
Lashing  together  the  rams  three  by  three,  he  placed 
a  man  under  the  middle  one  of  each  three.  Then  he 
curled  himself  under  the  shaggy  belly  of  the  largest 
ram  in  the  flock.  Polyphemus  felt  the  backs  of  the 
other  rams  as  they  passed  him,  but  laid  hold  of  the 
great  ram  and  gently  chid  him  for  lagging  behind 
the  rest.  At  last,  to  the  great  relief  of  Odysseus,  he 
let  him  also  pass  out.  Odysseus  released  his  compan- 
ions and  they  regained  the  ship.  Then,  with  foolhardy 
daring,  Odysseus  shouted  back  exultingly  to  the 
Cyclops,  disclosing  his  real  name.  Polyphemus  first 
hurled  two  huge  crags  at  the  ship  and  almost  wrecked 
it,  then  uttered  the  curse  which  caused  Odysseus  so 
many  sorrows  before  he  reached  his  home: 

'"  Hear  now,  great  monarch  of  the  raven  hair: 
Holder  of  earth,  Poseidon,  hear  my  cry. 
If  thou  my  father  art  indeed,  and  I 
Thy  child!     Or  ever  he  the  way  fulfil. 
Make  thou  Laertes-born  Odysseus  die, 
Waster  of  walls!  or  should  the  high  Fates  will 
That  friends  and  home  he  see,  then  alone  and  late  and  ill 

Let  him  return  on  board  a  foreign  ship, 
And  in  his  house  find  evil!'  " 

IX,  528-535.    Worsley. 


.1 

i 
88       .  Homer  to  Theocritus  '] 

Odysseus  and  his  companions  next  came  (Book  X)J 
to  the  island  of  ^olus,  god  of  the  winds.  The  god  ^ 
gave  Odysseus  a  bag  in  which  were  bound  all  the  \ 
noisy  winds,  and  made  it  fast  in  the  hold  of  the  ship.  : 
Then  he  sent  forth  the  blast  of  the  west  wind,  which  ^ 
in  nine  days  brought  them  within  sight  of  Ithaca.  ' 
But  while  Odysseus  slept  for  weariness,  his  crew,  think-  i 
ing  the  bag  contained  gold  and  silver,  opened  it,  and  ] 
the  winds  burst  violently  forth,  driving  them  back  to  \ 
the  island  of  ^olus,  who  angrily  sent  them  away.  \ 
After  six  days'  sailing  they  reached  the  land  of  the  I 
cannibal  giants,  the  Laestrygonians.  Odysseus  sent  i 
out  a  reconnoitering  party,  one  of  whom  was  caught  i 
and  eaten.  The  giants  rushed  to  the  cliffs  and  threw  i 
great  rocks  on  the  ships, "and  anon  there  arose  from  > 
the  fleet  an  evil  din  of  men  dying  and  ships  scattered  \ 
withal.  Andilike  folk  spearing  fishes,  they  bore  home  \ 
their  hideous  meal. ' '  Eleven  of  the  ships  were  wrecked  \ 
and  their  crews  slain ;  Odysseus  escaped  with  the  ■ 
twelfth  alone  and  its  crew,  "stricken  at  heart,  yet^ 
glad  as  men  saved  from  death."  •     j 

They  came  next  to  the  island  Aea,  "where  dwelt  | 
Circe  of  the  braided  tresses,  an  awful  goddess  of  mor-  ' 
tal  speech."  Odysseus  sent  one-half  of  his  crew  to  , 
search  out  the  place,  but  they,  partaking  of  a  potion 
mixed  for  them  by  the  enchantress,  "took  on  the  shape 
and  voice  and  bristles  of  swine,  but  their  mind  abode  i 
even  as  of  old."  One  only,  who  had  tarried  outside  \ 
through  misgivings,  came  back  to  tell  the  tale,  i 
Odysseus  girt  on  his  sword  and  went  forth  to  rescue  | 
his  companions.  Hermes  met  him,  told  him  of  the  : 
charm  of  Circe,  and  gave  him  an  antidote  against  it.  ; 
Circe   prevailed    upon  Odysseus  to  remain  with  her, 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy  89 

transforming  his  companions  back  into  men  and  swear- 
ing to  do  him  no  harm.  At  the  end  of  a  year,  at  his 
earnest  entreaty,  she  let  him  resume  his  journey,  tell- 
ing him,  however,  that  he  must  first  go  down  to  Hades 
to  seek  the  spirit  of  the  soothsayer  Teiresias. 

After  one  day's  sailing  they  came  (Book  XI)  "to 
the  limits  of  the  world,  to  the  deep-flowing  Oceanus. 
There  is  the  land  and  the  city  of  the  Cimmerians, 
shrouded  in  mist  and  cloud,  and  never  does  the  shin- 
ing sun  look  down  upon  them  with  his  rays,  neither 
when  he  climbs  the  starry  heavens,  nor  when  again 
he  turns  earthward  from  the  firmament,  but  deadly 
night  is  outspread  over  miserable  mortals."  Reach-, 
ing  the  place  that  Circe  had  declared  unto  to  him, 
he  dug  a  trench  and  filled  it  with  the  blood  of  victims. 

Forthwith  from  Erebus  a  phantom  crowd 
Loomed  forth,  the  shadowy  people  of  th.  dead — 
Old  men,  with  load  of  earthly  anguish  bowed, 
Brides  in  their  bloom  cut  off,  and  youths  unwed, 
Virgins  whose  tender  eyelids  then  first  shed 
True  sorrow,  men  with  gory  arms  renowned, 
Pierced  by  the  sharp  sword  on  the  death-plain  red. 
All  these  flock  darkling  with  a  hideous  sound. 
Lured  by  the  scent  of  blood,  the  open  trench  around. 

XI,  36-43.    Worsley. 

Teiresias  told  Odysseus  that  he  would  reach  home 
in  safety  after  many  troubles,  but  warned  him  not  to 
slay  the  cattle  of  the  Sun  on  the  isle  Thrinacia.  He 
closed  with  this  prophecy:  *'And  from  the  sea  shall 
thine  own  death  come,  the  gentlest  death  that  may 
be,  which  shall  end  thee  foredone  with  smooth  old  age, 
and  the  folk  shall  dwell  happily  around  thee."  Then 
Odysseus'  mother  came  up  to  him.  Thrice  he  sought 
to  embrace  her;  thrice  she  flitted  from  his  arms  as  a 


90  Homer  to  Theocritus 

shadow  or  even  as  a  dream.  ''For  even  on  this  wise 
is  it  with  mortals  when  they  die.  The  sinews  no  more 
bind  together  the  flesh  and  the  bones,  and  the  spirit 
like  a  dream  flies  forth  and  hovers  near."  Odysseus 
next  saw  all  the  famous  women  who  had  borne  chil- 
dren to  the  gods. 

Odysseus  would  now  fain  cease  his  tale  before  the 
Phaeacians,  for  the  time  of  sleep  had  come.  But 
Alcinous  asks  to  hear  about  the  Argives  who  went 
against  Troy:  "Beauty  crowns  thy  words  and  wisdom 
is  within  thee.  Behold,  the  night  is  of  great  length, 
unspeakable,  and  the  time  for  sleep  is  not  yet;  tell 
me,  therefore,  of  those  wondrous  deeds.  I  could 
abide  even  till  the  bright  dawn,  so  long  as  thou  couldst 
endure  to  rehearse  all  these  woes  of  thine  in  the  hall." 
So  Odysseus  goes  on  to  tell  of  his  meeting  with  the 
shades  of  Atreus,  Achilles,  Ajax,  and  Heracles,  and 
describes  the  tortures  of  Tantalus  and  Sisyphus.  His 
conversation  with  the  ghost  of  Achilles  is  famous: 

'"Ulysses!  what  hath  moved  thee  to  attempt 
This  greatest  of  thy  labors?     How  is  it 
That  thou  hast  found  the  courage  to  descend 
To  Hades,  where  the  dead,  the  bodiless  forms 
Of  those  whose  work  is  done  on  earth,  abide?' 

"  He  spake;  I  answered:  'Greatest  of  the  Greeks! 
Achilles,  son  of  Peleus!     'Twas  to  hear 
The  counsel  of  Teiresias  that  I  came. 
If  haply  he  might  tell  me  by  what  means 
To  reach  my  rugged  Ithaca  again. 
For  yet  I  have  not  trod  my  native  coast, 
Nor  even  have  drawn  nigh  to  Greece.     I  meet 
Misfortunes  everywhere.     But  as  for  thee, 
Achilles,  no  man  lived  before  thy  time, 
Nor  will  hereafter  live,  more  fortunate 
Than  thou,— (or  while  alive  we  honored  thee 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         91 

As  if  thou  wert  a  god,  and  now  again 
In  these  abodes  thou  rulest  o'er  the  dead; 
Therefore,  Achilles,  shouldst  thou  not  be  sad.' 
"I  spake;  Achilles  quickly  answered  me: — 
'Noble  Ulysses,  speak  not  thus  of  death, 
As  if  thou  couldst  console  me.    I  would  be 
A  laborer  on  earth,  and  serve  for  hire 
Some  man  of  mean  estate,  who  makes  scant  cheer, 
Rather  than  reign  o'er  all  who  have  gone  down 
To  death;  " 

XI,  581-606.     Bryant. 

Leaving  the  place  of  the  shades,  Odysseus  then 
(Book  XII)  sailed  past  the  isle  of  the  Sirens,  who 
bewitch  all  men  by  their  singing.  ''Whoso  draws 
nigh  them  unwittingly  and  hears  the  sound  of  their 
voice,  never  does  he  see  wife  or  babes  on  his  return, 
nor  have  they  joy  at  his  coming."  But  Odysseus, 
warned  by  Circe,  heard  the  singing,  but  sailed  past 
unharmed;  for  he  bound  himself  fast  to  the  mast  and 
filled  the  ears  of  the  crew  with  wax.  Next  they  sailed 
between  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  two  monsters  of  the 
sea,  one  on  either  side  of  a  narrow  strait  of  seething 
waters;  but  Scylla  seized  six  of  the  crew  and  devoured 
them,  shrieking  and  stretching  forth  their  hands  to 
their  leader  in  the  dread  death-struggle.  "And  the 
most  pitiful  thing  was  this  that  mine  eyes  have  seen 
in  all  my  travail  in  searching  out  the  paths  of  the  sea. " 
Landing  then  on  the  isle  Thrinacia,  his  companions 
slew  and  ate  of  the  sacred  kine^  of  Helios,  the  sun- 
god,  in  spite  of  the  warnings  of  Teiresias  and  Circe 
and  the  commands  of  their  leader.  Thereupon  the 
gods  sent  a  great  storm  upon  the  ship  and  wrecked 
her  with  all  the  crew,  save  only  Odysseus,  who  lashed 

^These  were  three  hundred  and  sixty  in  number,  typifying  the  days  in 
Uie  year. 


92  Homer  to  Theocritus 

] 

himself  upon   a   mast  and  was   brought  safely,  after  ; 

nine  days,  to  Calypso's  isle,  where  he  remained  seven   j 

years.      These    were  the   adventures  which   Odysseus  j 

related  at  the  court  of  King  Alcinous.  I 

Odysseus  departs.  (Book  XIII)  from  the  island  of  ] 

the  Phaeacians  in  a  swift  ship,  provided  by  Alcinous,   j 

taking  with   him  a  load  of  treasure,  the  gifts  of  the  i 

Phaeacians,  '*such  wealth  as  he  never  would  have  won  ; 

for  himself, out  of  Troy."     He  is  set  upon  the  shore  j 

of  Ithaca  while  still  asleep.     Poseidon,  thwarted  in  his  ; 

plans  concerning  Odysseus,   wreaks   his  wrath    upon  i 

the    Phaeacians    who    conveyed    him    home.      Smiting  j 

their  ship,  it  becomes  a  stone,  fast-rooted  in  the  sea.  | 

When  Odysseus  awakes,  wondering  in  what  land  he  is,  | 

Athene  appears  unto  him  in  disguise,  points  out  the  j 

familiar  landmarks  of  his  native  land,  and  tells  him  of  ' 

Telemachus  in  Sparta  and  of  Penelope  surrounded  by  I 

the  shameless  suitors.     That  he  may  not  be  recognized  ' 

and  slain,  she  transforms  him  into  a  beggar:  i 

I 
So  with  her  wand  she  touched  him;  and  the  skin  i 

Shrunk  on  the  flexile  limbs,  the  auburn  hair  \ 

Died,  and  he  stooped  an  old  man,  wrinkled,  thin.  \ 

Bleared  were  the  bright  orbs,  late  so  wondrous  fair^  I 

And  coarse  rags,  smoke-defiled,  she  made  him  wear, 

Wrapped  with  vile  deer's-hide,  and  rude  staff  anon  ! 

Gave,  and  a  foul  scrip  leathern-looped  to  bean,'*^  j 

XIII,  430-438.     Worslet.  ] 

In  this  disguise  he  appears  (Book  XIV)  before  the  j 
faithful  swineherd  Eumaeus,  an  old  serf  of  his,  and  is  j 
entertained  in  his  hut.  Odysseus  pretends  that  he  is  j 
a  Cretan,  and  weaves  a  cunning  tale  of  his  adventures  j 
after  leaving  Troy.  But  when  he  says  that  he  has  | 
recently  heard  tidings  of  Odysseus,   the   swineherd,  ■ 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Tr©y         93 

too  often  deceived  by  such  reports,  refuses  to  believe 
him. 

Meanwhile  (Book  XV)  Telemachus  is  warned  by 
Athene  to  hasten  home  to  Ithaca.  Menelaus  gives 
him  gifts  and  speeds  him  on  his  way.  By  the  advice 
of  .Athene  he  goes  first  to  the  hut  of  Eumaeus,  thus 
avoiding  the  suitors  who  lie  in  wait  for  his  ship.  In 
the  morning  (Book  XVI),  after  the  arrival  of  Tele- 
machus, Athene  appeared  unto  Odysseus, •invisible  to 
the  others,  and  commands  him  to  reveal  himself  to  his 
son,  that  they  may  take  counsel  together.  She 
restores  him,  for  the  moment,  to  his  own  form  and 
dress.  Telemachus  is  soon  convinced  that  this 
stranger  is  indeed  his  father.  Odysseus  then  inquires 
about  the  number  of  the  suitors,  that  he  may  decide 
whether  they  two  alone  shall  be  able  to  make  head 
against  them  without  aid  or  whether  they  must  seek 
allies.     Telemachus  thus  replies: 

"O  father,  I  have  heard  of  thy  great  fame 
My  whole  life  long, — how  mighty  is  thy  arm. 
How  wise  thy  counsels.     Thou  hast  said  great  things, 
And  I  am  thunderstruck.     It  cannot  be 
That  two  alone  should  stand  before  a  crowd 
Of  valiant  men.    They  are  not  merely  ten, — 
These  suitors, — nor  twice  ten,  but  many  more. 
Hear,  then,  their  number.     From  Dulichium  come 
Fifty  and  two,  the  flower  of  all  its  youth. 
With  whom  are  six  attendants.     Same  sends 
Twice  twelve,  and  twenty  more  Achaian  chiefs 
Come  from  Zacynthus.     Twelve  from  Ithaca; 
The  noblest  of  the  isle  are  these, — with  whom 
Medon,  the  herold,  comes,— a  bard  whose  song 
Is  heavenly, — and  two  servants  skilled  to  spread 
The  banquet.     Should  we  in  the  palace  halls 
Assault  all  these,  I  fear  lest  the  revenge 
For  all  thy  wrongs  would  end  most  bitterly 


94  Homer  to  Theocritus 


And  grievously  for  thee.     Now,  if  thy  thought 
Be  turned  to  some  ally,  bethink  thee  who 
Will  combat  for  us  with  a  willing  heart." 

Again  Ulysses,  the  great  sufferer,  spake: 
"Then  will  I  tell  thee;  listen,  and  give  good  heed. 
Think  whether  Pallas  and  her  father,  Jove, 
Suffice  not  for  us.     Need  we  more  allies?  " 

XVI,  293-317.     Bryant. 

Eumaeus,  who  knows  not  that  the  stranger  is  Odys- 
seus, is  sent  to  the  city  to  tell  Penelope  of  her  son's 
return.  The  suitors  are  enraged  that  Telemachus  has 
escaped  them.  The  next  day  (Book  XVII)  Tel- 
emachus goes  up  early  to  the  city  and  boldly  shows 
himself  before  the  suitors.  Later  on  Eumaeus  conducts 
Odysseus  thither,  again  disguised  as  a  beggar. 
Arrived  at  the  palace,  Odysseus  is  recognized  by  his 
old  dog  Argus:  I 

A  dog  was  lying  near,  •: 

And  lifted  up  his  head  and  pricked  his  ears.  { 

'Twas  Argus,  which  the  much-enduring  man  ] 

Ulysses  long  before  had  reared,  but  left  i 

Untried,  when  for  the  hallowed  town  of  Troy  j 

He  sailed.     The  young  men  oft  had  led  him  forth  \ 

In  eager  chase  of  wild  goats,  stags,  and  hares;  ; 

But  now,  his  master  far  away,  he  lay  ; 

Neglected,  just  before  the  stable  doors, 
Amid  the  droppings  of  the  mules  and  beeves,  ,' 

Heaped  high  till  carried  to  the  spacious  fields  i 

Of  which  Ulysses  wa^  the  lord.     There  lay  i 

Argus,  devoured  with  vermin.     As  he  saw  i 

Ulysses  drawing  near,  he  wagged  his  tail  1 

And  dropped  his  ears,  but  found  that  he  could  come 
No  nearer  to  his  master.     Seeing  this,  i 

Ulysses  wiped  away  a  tear  unmarked,  ; 

While  over  Argus  the  black  night  of  death  j 

Came  suddenly,  as  soon  as  he.had  seen  \ 

Ulysses,  absent  now  for  twenty  years. 

XVII,  335-398.    Bryant.        \ 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         95 

Odysseus  goes  about  among  the  suitors  begging 
food,  and  Telemachus  feigns  not  to  know  him.  One 
of  the  suitors  smites  him  on  the  shoulder  with  a  foot- 
stool. A  beggar  whom  the  suitors  call ' '  Irus, ' '  because 
he  ran  on  errands,  tries  to  drive  Odysseus  away  from 
the  house  (Book  XVIII).  The  suitors  arrange  a  box- 
ing match  between  them,  wherein  Odysseus  easily 
smites  Irus.  Thereafter  Odysseus  is  on  a  better  foot- 
ing with  the  suitors,  though  they  still  taunt  him,  so 
that  he  almost  forgets  his  role  of  beggar.  Penelope 
appears  among  the  suitors  in  all  her  beauty  and  be- 
guiles them  into  giving  her  costly  presents.  Odysseus 
tests  the  loyalty  of  the  maidens  of  Penelope  and  finds 
some  of  them  on  the  side  of  the  suitors. 

Telemachus  and  Odysseus  secretly  take  all  the 
arms  out  of  the  great  hall  and  place  them  in  the  armory 
(Book  XIX).  Penelope  calls  Odysseus  to  her  and 
questions  him.  He  tells  her  a  false  tale  in  the  likeness 
of  truth,  how  that  he  had  once  entertained  Odysseus 
in  Crete,  and  that  he  had  lately  heard  of  his  home- 
coming from  the  king  of  the  Thesprotians.  Penelope 
is  cheered  by  his  words,  and,  disposed  to  treat  kindly 
the  beggar  who  has  brought  the  good  tidings  of  her 
husband's  speedy  return,  she  bids  Eurycleia,  a  trusted 
servant,  once  the  nurse  of  Odysseus,  to  wash  the 
stranger's  feet.  This  leads  to  the  recognition  of  Odys- 
seus by  Eurycleia,  who  says  to  him: 

"  Deeply  am  I  moved  at  sight  of  thee/^ 
Hear  what  I  say:  of  strangers  in  distress 
Come  many  hither,  yet  have  I  beheld^ 
No  one  who  bears,  in  shape  and  voice  and  feet^ 
Such  likeness  to  our*absent  lord  as  thou.p 
Ulysses,  the  sagacious,  thus  replied: 


g6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

"O  aged  woman,  so  has  it  been  said 
By  all  who  have  beheld  both  him  and  me. 
They  all  declare  that  we  are  very  like 
Each  other;  thou  in  this  hast  spoken  well." 

He  spake;  she  took  a  shining  vase  designed 
For  washing  feet,  and  poured  cold  water  in 
In  large  abundance,  and  warm  water  next. 
Ulysses,  who  had  sat  before  the  hearth. 
Moved  to  a  darker  spot,  for  in  his  mind 
The  thought  arose  that  she  might  find  a  scar 
Upon  his  limbs  in  handling  them,  and  thus 
His  secret  would  be  known.    She  came  and  bathed 
His  feet,  and  found  the  scar.     'T  was  where  a  boar 
With  his  white  tooth  had  gashed  the  limb,  as  once 
He  journeyed  to  Parnassus. 

The  aged  woman,  as  she  took  the  foot 
Into  her  hands,  perceived  by  touch  the  scar, 
And,  letting  fall  the  limb,  it  struck  the  vase. 
Loud  rang  the  brass,  the  vase  was  overturned. 
And  poured  the  water  forth.    At  once  a  rush 
Of  gladness  and  of  grief  came  o'er  her  heart. 
Tears  filled  her  eyes,  and  her  clear  voice  was  choked. 
She  touched  Ulysses  on  the  chin,  and  said:  — 

"  Dear  child!  thou  art  Ulysses,  of  a  truth. 
I  knew  thee  not  till  I  had  touched  the  scar." 

So  speaking,  toward  Penelope  she  turned 
Her  eyes,  about  to  tell  her  that  her  lord 
Was  in  the  palace,  but  the  queen  saw  not, 
And  all  that  passed  was  unperceived  by  her, 
For  Pallas  turned  her  thoughts  another  way. 

XIX,  463-583.    Bryant. 

But  Odysseus  enjoins  upon  Eurycleia  to  tell  no  one 
in  the  house,  lest  the  secret  be  betrayed  to  the  suitors. 
Penelope  tells  Odysseus  of  a  dream  that  has  qome  to 
her,  which  seemed  to  forbode  the  destruction  of  the 
suitors,  and  adds: 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy  97 

"Of  dreams,  O  stranger,  some  are  meaningless 

And  idle,  and  can  never  be  fulfilled. 

Two  portals  are  there  for  their  shadowy  shapes 

Of  ivory  one,  and  one  of  horn.    The  dreams 

That  come  through  the  carved  ivory  deceive 

With  promises  that  never  are  made  good; 

But  those  which  pass  the  doors  of  polished  horn, 

And  are  beheld  of  men,  are  ever  true. 

And  yet  I  cannot  hope  that  my  strange  dream 

Came  through  them,  though  my  son^nd  1  would  both 

Rejoice  if  it  were  so.    This  let  me  say, 

And  heed  me  well.     To-morrow  brings  to  us 

The  hateful  morn  which  takes  me  from  my  home, 

The  palace  of  Ulysses.     I  shall  now 

Propose  a  contest.     In  the  palace  court 

Ulysses  in  a  row  set  up  twelve  stakes, 

Like  props  that  hold  a  galley  up;  each  stake 

Had  its  own  ring;  he  stood  afar,  and  sent 

An  arrow  through  them  all.     I  shall  propose 

This  contest  to  the  suitors.     He  who  bends 

The  bow  with  easy  mastery,  and  sends 

Through  the  twelve  rings  an  arrow,  I  will  take 

To  follow  from  the  palace  where  I  passed 

My  youthful  married  life,  —  a  beautiful  home, 

And  stored  with  wealth;  a  home  which  I  shall  long 

Remember,  even  in  my  nightly  dreams." 

XX,  679-704.    Bryant. 

The  day  of  vengeance  comes  at  last  (Book  XX). 
The  suitors  insult  Odysseus  again.  Athene  drives 
their  wits  wandering,  so  that  when  the  prophet  Theo- 
clymenus,  whom  Telemachus  brought  from  Pylos, 
tells  them  of  their  impending  doom,  they  laugh  sweetly 
at  him,  understanding  not  his  words.  Penelope  then 
brings  out  the  bow  and  arrows  of  Odysseus  (Book 
XXI),  and  the  swineherd  Eumseus  brings  out  the  axes, 
which  Telemachus  arranges  in  a  straight  line.  One 
after  another  the  suitors  try  to  string  the  great  bow, 


98  Homer  to  Theocritus 

but  none  can  bend  it.  Odysseus  calls  apart  the  swine- 
herd Eumseus  and  a  faithful  neatherd  whom  he  has 
proved,  and  reveals  himself  to  them,  charging  them 
with  their  duties  in  the  approaching  fight.  Odysseus 
now  asks  to  try  the  bow.  The  suitors  object,  but 
Penelope  and  Telemachus  insist  upon  his  claim  as  just. 
Odysseus  takes  the  bow,  at  the  same  time  bidding 
Eumaeus  have  the  doors  of  the  women's  apartment 
closed,  while  the  neatherd  bars  the  outer  gates  of  the 
court,  so  that  no  way  of  escape  is  left  for  the  suitors. 
Odysseus  then  easily  strings  the  bow,  and  "the  bow- 
string rang  sweetly  at  the  touch,  in  tone  like  a  swal- 
low."  Then  laying  an  arrow  on  the  bow,  "he  held  the 
notch  and  drew  the  string,  even  from  the  settle  where 
he  sat,  and  with  straight  aim  shot  the  shaft  and 
missed  not  one  of  tbe  axes,  beginning  from  the  first 
axe-handle,  and  the  bronze-weighted  shaft  passed 
clean  through  and  oi^  at  the  last."  Then  at  a  nod 
from  his  father,  T^I^nachus  girt  his  sharp  sword 
about  him  and  took  a  spear  in  his  grasp,  and  stood  by 
Odysseus'  side. 

Then  did  Ulysses  cast  his  rags  aside, 
And  leaping  to  the  threshold,  took  his  stand 
On  its  broad  space,  with  bow  and  quiver  filled 
With  arrows.    At  his  feet  the  hero  poured 
The  winged  shafts,  and  to  the  suitors  called: 

"  That  difficult  strife  is  ended.     Now  I  take 
Another  mark,  which  no  man  yet  has  hit. 
Now  shall  I  see  if  I  attain  my  aim. 
And,  by  the  aid  of  Phcebus,  win  renown." 

He  spake,  and  turning,  at  Antinous  aimed 
The  bitter  shaft,— Antinous,  who  just  then 
Had  grasped  a  beautiful  two-eared  cup  of  gold. 
About  to  drink  the  wine.     He  little  thought 
Of  wounds  and  death;  for  who,  when  banqueting 


The  Odyssey.      Homer  and  Troy  99  -i 

Among  his  fellows,  could  suspect  that  one  ' 

Alone  against  so  many  men  would  dare,  j 

However  bold,  to  plan  his  death,  and  bring  j 

On  him  the  doom  of  fate?    Ulysses  struck  ,j 

The  suitor  with  the  arrow  at  the  throat.  j 

The  point  came  through  the  tender  neck  behind.  I 

Sideways  he  sank  to  earth;  his  hand  let  fall  ] 

The  cup;  the  dark  blood  in  a  thick  warm  stream  I 
Gushed  from  the  nostrils  of  the  smitten  man. 

He  spurned  the  table  with  his  feet  and  spilled  '{ 

The  viands;  bread  and  roasted  meat  were  flung  1 

To  lie  polluted  on  the  floor.    Then  rose  1 

The  suitors  in  a  tumult,  when  they  saw  ! 

The  fallen  man;  from  all  their  seats  they  rose  | 

Throughout  the  hall,  and  to  the  massive  walls  ] 

Looked  eagerly;  there  hung  no  buckler  there,  ' 
No  sturdy  lance  for  them  to  wield.    They  called 

Thus  to  Ulysses  with  indignant  words:  i 

"  Stranger,  in  evil  hour  hast  thou  presumed  ; 
To  aim  at  men;  and  thou  shalt  henceforth  bear 
Part  in  no  other  contest.     Even  now 
Is  thy  destruction  close  to  thee.    Thy  hand 

Hast  slain  the  noblest  youth  in  Ithaca.  | 

The  vultures  shall  devour  thy  flesh  for  this."  \ 

So  each  one  said;  they  deemed  he  had  not  slain 

The  suitor  wittingly;  nor  did  they  see,  I 

Blind  that  they  were,  the  doom  which  in  that  hour         "  j 

Was  closing  round  them  all.    Then  with  a  frown  | 

The  wise  Ulysses  looked  on  them,  and  said:  \ 

"  Dogs!  ye  had  thought  I  never  would  come  back  \ 

From  Ilium's  coast,  and  therefore  ye  devoured  ; 

My  substance  here,  and  offered  violence  .  % 

To  my  maid-servants,  and  pursued  my  wife  | 

As  lovers,  while  I  lived.     Ye  dreaded  not  ) 

The  gods  who  dwell  in  the  great  heaven,  nor  feared  >< 

Vengeance  hereafter  from  the  hands  of  men;  j 

And  now  destruction  overhangs  you  all."  i 

He  spake,  and  all  were  pale  with  fear,  and  each  j 

Looked  round  for  some  escape  from  death.  }. 

XXII,  1-53.    Bryant.  \ 


lOO  Homer  to  Theocritus 

But  the  suitors  rally  and  rush  upon  Odysseus  with 
drawn  swords.  Odysseus  shoots  one  leader  and  Tele- 
machus  smiles  another  with  his  spear.  Telemachus 
brings  from  the  armory  four  suits  of  armor  and  eight 
spears.  Odysseus,  so  long  as  he  had  arrows,  smote 
the  suitors  one  by  one,  and  they  fell  thick  upon  one 
another.  But  when  the  arrows  failed,  he  put  on  hel- 
met and  shield  and  grasped  two  mighty  spears.  The 
suitors  are  furnished  by  a  servant  with  armor  and 
spears  from  the  armory,  which  Telemachus  had  left 
open,  but  the  traitor  is- caught  and  suspended  from 
the  roof-beam.  The  goat-herd  and  neat-herd  don 
their  armor  and  take  their  stand  with  Odysseus  and 
Telemachus.  The  suitors  make  another  onset  with 
volleys  of  spears,  all  aimed  at  Odysseus,  but  the  four 
withstand  the  attack  and  slay  each  his  man. 

They  fled  along  the  hall  as  flees  a  herd 

Of  kine,  when  the  swift  gadfly  suddenly 

Has  come  among  them,  and  has  scattered  them. 

Meantime,  like  falcons  with  curved  claws  and  beaks, 

That,  coming  from  the  mountain  summits,  pounce 

Upon  the  smaller  birds,  and  make  them  fly 

Close  to  the  fields  among  the  snares  they  dread, 

And  seize  and  slay,  nor  can  the  birds  resist 

Or  fly,  and  at  the  multitude  of  prey 

The  fowlers'  hearts  are  glad;  so  did  the  four 

Smite  right  and  left  the  suitors  hurrying  through 

The  palace-hall,  and  fearful  moans  arose 

As  heads  were  smitten  by  the  sword,  and  all 

The  pavement  swam  with  blood. 

XXII,  364-378.     Bryant. 

All  are  slain  except  the  minstrel  Phemius  and 
a   faithful   henchman.       The   unfaithful    maidens   are 


The  Odyssey.     H omer ^d  Tt-by '     ' I'o i ' 

commanded  to  carry  out  the  dead  and  to  cleanse  the 
hall;  after  this  Odysseus  hangs  them  all. 

Now  Penelope  is  told  that  Odysseus  is  in  the  house 
and  has  slain  the  suitors  (Book  XXIII),  but  cannot 
believe  the  truth,  even  when  assured  by  Telemachus 
and  Odysseus  himself.  **If  this  be  in  truth  Odysseus,** 
she  says,  "and  he  hath  indeed  come  home,  verily  we 
shall  beware  of  each  other  the  more  surely,  for  we 
have  tokens  that  we  twain  know,  even  we,  secret 
from  all  others."  So  she  spake,  and  the  steadfast, 
goodly  Odysseus  smiled.  Going  to  the  bath,  he 
came  forth  again  changed  in  aspect,  clothed  in  a 
goodly  mantle  and  doublet.  And  Athene  shed  great 
beauty  upon  him,  "and  made  him  greater  and  more 
mighty  to  behold,  and  from  his  head  caused  deep 
curling  locks  to  flow,  like  the  hyacinth  flower."  Then 
Penelope,  to  test  him,  speaks  thus  to  Eurycleia: 

"  Bestir  thyself, 
Dame  Eurycleia,  and  make  up  with  care 
A  bed  without  the  chamber,  which  he  framed 
With  his  own  hands;  bear  out  the  massive  bed. 
And  lay  upon  it  seemly  coverings, 
Fleeces  and  mantles  for  his  nightly  rest." 

She  spake  to  try  her  husband;  but  displeased, 
Ulysses  answered  thus  his  virtuous  queen: 

"  O  woman,  thou  hast  said  unwelcome  words. 
Who  hath  displaced  my  bed?     That  task  were  hard 
For  long-experienced  hands,  unless  some  god 
Had  come  to  shift  its  place.     No  living  man. 
Even  in  his  prime  of  years,  could  easily 
Have  moved  it,  for  in  that  elaborate  work 
There  was  a  mystery;  it  was  I  myself 
Who  shaped  it,  no  one  else.    Within  my  court 
There  ^rew  an  olive-tree  with  full-leaved  boughs, 
A  tall  and  flourishing  tree;  its  massive  stem 


I02  Mbmer  to  Theocritus 

Was  like  a  column.     Round  it  I  built  up 

A  chamber  with  cemented  stones  until 

The  walls  were  finishedj  then  I  framed  a  roof 

Above  it,  and  put  on  the  well-glued  doors 

Close-fitting.     Next  I  lopped  the  full-leaved  boughs, 

And,  cutting  off  the  trunk  above  the  root, 

Smoothed  well  the  stump  with  tools,  and  made  of  it 

A  post  to  bear  the  couch.     I  bored  the  wood 

With  wimbles,  placed  it  on  the  frame,  and  carved 

The  work  till  it  was  done,  inlaying  it 

With  silver,  gold,  and  ivory.     I  stretched 

Upon  it  thongs  of  oxhide  brightly  dyed 

In  purple.     Now,  O  wife,  I  cannot  know 

Whether  my  bed  remains  as  then  it  was. 

Or  whether  some  one  from  the  root  has  hewn 

The  olive  trunk,  and  moved  it  from  its  place." 

He  spake,  and  her  knees  faltered  and  her  heart 
Was  melted  as  she  heard  her  lord  recount 
The  tokens  all  so  truly,  and  she  wept, 
And  rose,  and  ran  to  him,  and  flung  her  arms 
About  his  neck,  and  kissed  his  brow,  and  said:  — 

"  Ulysses,  look  not  on  me  angrily. 
Thou  who  in  other  things  art  wise  above 
All  other  men.    The  gods  have  made  our  lot 
A  hard  one,  jealous  lest  we  should  have  passed 
Our  youth  together  happily,  and  thus 
Have  reached  old  age.     I  pray,  be  not  incensed, 
Nor  take  it  ill  that  I  embraced  thee  not 
As  soon  as  I  beheld  thee,  for  my  heart 
Has  ever  trembled  lest  some  one  who  comes 
Into  this  isle  should  cozen  me  with  words; 
And  they  who  practice  frauds  are  numberless. 

But  now,  since  thou  by  tokens  clear  and  true 
Hast  spoken  of  our  bed,  which  human  eye 
Has  never  seen  save  mine  and  thine,  and  those 
Of  one  handmaiden  only,  Actoris, — 
Her  whom  my  father  gave  me  when  I  came 
To  this  thy  palace,  and  who  kept  the  door 


The  Odyssey.      Homer  and  Troy        103 

Of  our  close  chamber,  —  thou  hast  won  my  mind- 
To  full  belief,  though  hard  it  was  to  win." 

She  spake,  and  he  was  moved  to  tears;  he  wept 
As  in  his  arms  he  held  his  dearly  loved 
And  faithful  wife.     As  welcome  as  the  land 
To  those  who  swim  the  deep,  of  whose  stout  bark 
Neptune  has  made  a  wreck  amidst  the  waves, 
Tossed  by  the  billows  and  the  blast,  and  few 
Are  those  who  from  the  hoary  ocean  reach 
The  shore,  their  limbs  all  crested  with  the  brine. 
These  gladly  climb  the  sea-beach,  and  are  safe,  — 
So  welcome  was  her  husband  to  her  eyes. 
Nor  would  her  fair  white  arms  release  his  neck. 
And  there  would  rosy-fingered  Morn  have  found 
Both  weeping,  but  the  blue-eyed  Pallas  planned 
That  thus  it  should  not  be;  she  stayed  the  night 
When  near  its  close,  and  held  the  golden  Morn 
Long  in  the  ocean  depths,  nor  suffered  her 
To  yoke  her  steeds  that  bring  the  light  to  men, — 
Lampas  and  Phaethon,  swift  steeds  that  bear 
The  Morning  on  her  way. 

XXIII,  214-298.     Bryant. 

The  story  is  now  finished,  for  the  plot  is  complete; 
but,  as  in  the  Iliad,  the  poet  adds  a  few  touches  to 
the  picture  in  an  epilogue  (Book  XXIV).  He  first 
tells  of  the  descent  of  the  souls  of  the  suitors  to 
Hades.  In  Hades  the  souls  of  Agamemnon,  Patroclus, 
Antilochus,  and  Ajax  are  gathered  about  Achilles, 
Agamemnon  telling  of  the  death  and  burial  of  Achilles, 
when  Hermes  brings  down  the  souls  of  the  suitors. 
When  Agamemnon  learns  of  the  return  and  triumph 
of  Odysseus,  he  thus  apostrophizes  Odysseus: 

"  Son  of  Laertes,  fortunate  and  wise, 
Ulysses!  thou  by  feats  of  eminent  might 
And  valor  dost  possess  ihy  wife  again. 
And  nobly  minded  is  thy  blameless  queen. 


I04  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  daughter  of  Icarius,  faithfully 

Remembering  him  to  whom  she  gave  her  troth 

While  yet  a  virgin.     Never  shall  the  fame 

Of  his  great  valor  perish,  and  the  gods 

Themselves  shall  frame,  for  those  who  dwell  on  earth, 

Sweet  strains  in  praise  of  sage  Penelope." 

XXIV,  236-245.     Bryant. 

Meanwhile  Odysseus  visits  his  father,  Laertes,  and 
finds  him  wasted  with  age  and  clothed  in  unseemly 
garments.  The  old  man  discloses  his  grief  for  his 
long-lost  son,  whereupon  Odysseus  declares  himself, 
showing  as  a  token  the  scar  upon  his  leg  and  naming 
over  the  trees  which  he  himself  had  planted  when  a  boy. 
Odysseus,  Telemachus,  and  Laertes  then  go  up  to  the 
city  to  fight  against  the  relatives  of  the  suitors,  who 
plan  to  slay  them.  After  a  short  struggle  Athene 
intervenes  and  reestablishes  Odysseus  in  his  sover- 
eignty over  Ithaca  and  his  people. 

The  Iliad  and  Odyssey  give  us  a  well-defined  picture 
of  a  certain  stage  of  Greek  civilization,  of  the  Greek 
people  in  an  early  period  of  its  development.  The 
Homeric  Greek  strongly  resembles  the  Greek  of  later 
times,  but  as  the  child  resembles  the  father.  He  has 
the  same  aptitudes  and  instincts,  but  they  are  as  yet 
relatively  undeveloped,  nor  has  civilization  advanced 
sufficiently  to  give  his  powers  full  play.  It  is  the 
childhood  of  the  Greek  race,  with  all  the  buoyancy 
and  freshness,  enthusiasm  and  vigor;  but  the  child- 
hood of  an  essentially  noble  people,  responsive,  as 
a  rule,  to  its  best  impulses,  and  endowed  with  a  pas- 
sionate love  for  both  spiritual  and  physical  excellence. 
The  Odyssey  gives  the  impression  of  being  somewhat 
later  than  the  Iliad  by  reason  of  its   more  advanced 


The  Odyssey.      Homer  and  Troy        105 

conception  of  the  gods  and  its  broader  view  of  life; 
but  practically  the  two  poems  are  products  of  the 
same  age.  The  Greek  chronologists  placed  the  events 
of  the  Trojan  war  in  the  twelfth  century  before  Christ. 
The  remains  of  the  Homeric  age  which  the  spade  of 
the  excavator  has  uncovered  seem  to  point  to  a  time 
between  1200  and  1500.  But  the  authors  of  the  poems 
were  of  a  much  later  time,  and  naturally  transferred 
many  of  the  customs  and  conceptions  of  their  own  day 
to  the  period  of  their  story. 

Homer  conceives  of  the  earth  as  a  sort  of  flat  oval, 
around  which  flows  the  river  Oceanus.  Just  at  the 
edge  is  the  region  of  the  dead — the  Elysian  fields, 
where  roam  the  shades.  At  the  extreme  east  and 
west  dwell  the  Ethiopians,  the  favorites  of  the  gods. 
Near  the  centre  is  Greece.  The  coast  of  Asia  Minoi- 
is  well  known,  and  many  of  the  islands  of  the  Egaean 
and  Ionian  seas.  Phoenicia  is  mentioned  and  Egyp- 
tian Thebes.  The  Nile  is  '*the  river  Egyptus. "  Out- 
side of  this  zone  lie  strange  lands,  peopled  with  mon- 
sters and  fairies.  The  sky  is  the  vast  roof  the  earth, 
supported  by  pillars  which  the  giant  Atlas  holds. 

The  prevailing  form  of  government  is  monarchy, 
but  not  the  absolute  despotism  by  which  the  people  of 
Egypt  and  the  Orient  were  at  this  time  oppressed. 
The  king  consults  his  council  of  elders,  and  sometimes 
calls  together  the  whole  people.  But  the  rights  of  the 
people  are  not  guarded  by  constitutional  restrictions 
upon  the  king.  If  powerful  enough  he  may  override 
both  the  elders  and  the  assembly.  He  rules  by  divine 
right;  and  yet  the  obligations  of  his  office  are  distinctly 
felt.  Besides  the  free  people  there  is  a  class  of 
slaves,  captives  taken  in  war.      They  may  be  bought 


io6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

and  sold,  and  are  charged  with  domestic  labors  for 
the  most  part.  But  they  are  not  looked  upon  as 
belonging  to  an  inferior  race,  nor  are  they  cruelly 
treated.  Hired  servants  attend  to  the  flocks  and  the 
farms. 

The  Iliad  and  Odyssey  contain  charming  pictures  of 
well-ordered,  happy  domestic  life.  The  households  of 
Menelaus  and  Helen  and  of  Alcinous  and  Arete  reveal 
both  refinement  and  affection.  The  husband  respects 
and  honors  his  wife,  who  in  turn  renders  him  both 
affection  and  obedience.  Children  are  subject  to  their 
parents  and  care  for  them  in  old  age.  Hospitality 
is  regarded  as  a  requirement  of  divine  law.  The  guest 
is  always  welcome.  Even  the  beggar  is  not  turned 
away.  The  position  of  women  is  significant  of  an 
enlightened  people.  There  is  not  a  trace  of  the  Ori- 
ental attitude  toward  her  which  afterward  character- 
ized Athenian  society.  She  moves  freely  among  men, 
but  with  becoming  modesty,  and  is  invariably  treated 
with  a  chivalrous  courtesy.  Her  sphere  is  the  house- 
hold ;  war  and  the  council  are  reserved  for  the  men. 
She  directs  her  servants,  spins,  weaves,  and  embroi- 
ders. As  we  have  seen,  even  the  princess  Nausicaa 
is  not  above  washing  the  linen.  In  the  entertainment 
of  guests  the  wife  takes  a  prominent  part.  Polyga- 
my is  unknown;  so  is  divorce.  But  the  unfaithful 
wife  and  the  erring  husband  are  not  wanting. 

The  gods  of  this  age  are  men  and  women  in  their 
passions,  but  possess  greater  beauty  and  power, 
together  with  immortality.  They  are  not,  strictly 
speaking,  all-powerful  nor  all-wise.  They  are  not 
always  good,  yielding  to  temptations  to  which  men  are 
subject  and  allowing  human  passions  of  hatred  and 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy        107 

revenge  to  sway  them.  The  universe  is  divided  into 
three  realms,  assigned  to  the  three  sons  of  Cronus. 
Zeus,  the  oldest  and  most  powerful,  is  supreme  in  the 
heavens,  Poseidon  in  the  sea,  and  Hades  in  the  abode 
of  the  dead.  The  people  of  the  earth  are  subject  to 
the  god  of  the  skies  and  the  god  of  the  seas,  but  the 
former  is  more  powerful.  Next  to  these  three  in  rank 
are  three  others,  Hera,  the  sister  and  wife  of  Zeus, 
and  Athene  and  Apollo,  children  of  Zeus.  The 
others  are  more  restricted  in  the  scope  of  their  power. 
The  gods  interfere  freely  in  the  affairs  of  men,  appear- 
ing among  them  in  person  or  in  disguise,  or  directing 
their  doings  from  the  height  of  Mount  Olympus. 

The  age  of  Homer  has  received  fresh  illustration  in 
recent  years  from  extensive  excavations  made  in  Asia 
Minor  and  in  Greece.  Heinrich  Schliemann,  a  Ger- 
man merchant,  was  from  early  boyhood  a  devout 
worshiper  at  the  shrine  of  Homer,  and  conceived 
a  passionate  desire  to  explore  the  scenes  which  Homer 
describes.  Acquiring  a  large  fortune,  he  set  about 
the  fulfillment  of  his  dreams.  Following  the  indica- 
tions found  in  the  poems,  he  excavated  the  hill  of  His- 
sarlik  in  Asia  Minor,  near  the  Hellespont,  and  found 
there  the  ruins  of  seven  cities  one  upon  another.  He 
himself  believed  that  in  the  second  city  from  the  bot- 
tom, where  a  wonderful  treasure  of  objects  in  massive 
gold,  silver,  bronze,  and  clay  came  to  light,  he  had 
found  the  city  of  Priam.  More  recent  excavations 
have  shown,  however,  that  the  city  which  represents 
best  the  civilization  and  the  power  of  the  Homeric 
Priam  was  rather  the  sixth  from  the  bottom.  This  is 
made  certain  by  comparison  with  the  remains  found 
in  Mycenae,  the  city  of  Agamemnon,  which  Schliemann 


io8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

also  excavated,  and  at  Tiryns,  a  still  earlier  fortress 
in  Argos.  On  many  sites  in  Greece  and  on  the  islands 
remains  of  the  same  civilization  have  been  found  by 
Schliemann  and  others,  so  that  now  the  phrase 
"Mycenaean  civilization"  stands  for  a  certain  defi- 
nite prehistoric  culture  which  bears  a  very  close 
relationship  with  the  culture  revealed  in  the  Homeric 
poems.  These  discoveries  have  had  the  effect  of  dis- 
sipating much  of  the  skepticism  with  'which  the 
Homeric  poems  had  come  to  be  regarded  a  half-cen- 
tury ago  as  trustworthy  documents  of  the  past.  We 
cannot,  indeed,  affirm  that  the  story  of  the  Iliad  or 
Odyssey  is  true  in  the  sense  that  the  events  described 
ever  took  place.  But  the  story  of  the  Trojan  war 
may,  after  all,  have  grown  out  of  certain  historical 
occurrences  which  in  the  course  of  time  became  mag- 
nified by  the  poets  into  heroic  proportions.  Certain  it 
is,  at  least,  that  there  once  was  a  rich  and  powerful 
city  in  the  Troad,  and  at  the  same  time,  in  Greece 
proper,  a  rich  and  powerful  people  under  the  sway  of 
the  lord  of  Mycenae. 

We  shall  touch  but  briefly  upon  the  famous  Homeric 
Question,  which  has  existed  since  the  second  century 
before  Christ  and  will  probably  not  cease  to  be  dis- 
cussed so  long  as  the  Homeric  poems  are  studied. 
The  question,  briefly  stated,  is  the  problem  of  the  origin 
and  authorship  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey.  The  ancients 
knew  almost  nothing  about  the  person  Homer,  but 
they  believed  in  him,  conceiving  of  him  as  a  blind 
bard,  like  Demodocus  in  the  Odyssey.  Many  different 
cities  claimed  to  be  his  birthplace.  In  late  antiquity 
some  scholars  held  that  the  Iliad^  but  not  the  Odyssey^ 
was  the  work  of  Homer.      It  is  the  view  of  scholars 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy        109 

to-day  that  the  two  poems  are  of  different  authorship, 
although  they  acknowledge  their  great  similarity. 
But  the  Odyssey  bears  the  marks  of  a  somewhat  later 
age  than  the  Iliad. 

Professor  F.  A.  Wolf,  of  Berlin,  in  a  book  written 
in  1795,  was  the  first  to  attempt  seriously  to  prove 
that  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  were  not  the  work  of  a  single 
poet,  nor  each  composed  originally  as  a  single  poem. 
They  were  rather  put  together  from  many  smaller 
poems  which  had  once  circulated  orally  throughout  the 
Greek  world.  The  unity  of  the  poems  as  we  now  have 
them  is  due  to  the  editor  who  put  the  smaller  poems 
together.  The  arguments  advanced  by  Wolf  and  his 
successors  are  too  complicated  to  be  presented  here. 
It  will  suffice  to  state  some  of  the  results  of  the  long 
discussion  in  which  most  scholars  now  agree.  The 
Iliad  and  Odyssey  belong  to  the  end  and  not  to  the 
beginning  of  a  poetical  epoch.  There  were  current 
in  pre-Homeric  times  a  multitude  of  lays  which  gradu- 
ally, as  the  poetic  art  developed,  took  on  a  style  suit- 
able to  a  heroic  narration.  The  Iliad  existed  once  in 
a  much  shorter  form  than  now.  By  various  hands 
it  has  been  enlarged  and  remodeled.  The  author  of 
this  orginal  Iliad  is  fairly  entitled  to  be  called  Homer, 
the  founder  of  the  epic  art.  The  Odyssey  is  mainly 
the  work  of  a  single  poet,  though  certain  portions  of 
it  also  are  later  additions.  It  was  probably  composed 
about  a  century  later  than  the  original  Iliad.  The 
nucleus  of  both  poems  had  its  origin  in  Greece  proper, 
but  was  carried  over  to  Ionia  by  emigrants,  whence 
it  received  the  imprint  of  the  Ionic  society,  spirit,  and 
dialect.' 

»One  of  the  principal  arguments  of  Professor  Wolf  has  been  much 
weakened  by  the  discoveries  of  the  present  century.    He  believed  that  the 


no  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Besides  the  poems  of  the  Epic  Cycle,  to  which 
reference  has  already  been  made,  the  only  epic  poems 
of  literary  importance  produced  during  the  classical 
period  after  Homer  were  the  Theogony  and  the  Works 
and  Days  of  Hesiod.  The  former  poem  brings  together 
the  legends  about  the  origin  of  the  universe  and  the 
birth  of  the  gods,  the  latter  gives  practical  hints  on 
farming  (the  JVorks)  and  on  lucky  and  unlucky  days 
(the  Days).  Hesiod  was  a  Boeotian,  born  a  century 
and  a  half  after  Homer,  according  to  tradition,  and 
as  a  poet  has  no  claim  to  a  place  beside  Homer. 
Mention  should  also  be  made  of  the  so-called  Homeric 
Hymns,  a  collection  of  poems  of  different  ages,  most 
of  them  simply  preludes  to  the  songs  of  the  rhapsod- 
ists.  The  Hymn  to  Demeter  is  of  great  beauty  and  of 
interest  as  bearing  on  the  origin  of  the  famous  mys- 
teries at  Eleusis. 

art  of  writing  was  not  known  and  freely  practiced  among  the  Greeks  for 
several  centuries  after  the  reported  time  of  Homer.  The  oral  transmission 
for  so  long  a  time  of  poems  so  extensive  as  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  seemed  to 
him  quite  impossible.  But  we  now  possess  Greek  writing  from  last  half  of 
the  seventh  century  and  may  safely  assume  the  practice  of  writing  at  a  con- 
siderably earlier  period. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   ELEGIAC,    IAMBIC,    AND    MELIC   POETS 

The  Change  in  the  Social  and  Political  Conditions  of  Greece 
—  Lyric  Poetry  —  The  three  Branches  of  Lyric  —  Elegiac 
Poetry  —  Callinus  —  Tyrtaeus  —  Mimnermus  —  Solon  — 
Theognis  —  The  Anthology— Iambic  Poetry  —  Archilochus 
— Melic  Poetry — Alcaeus — Sappho — Anacreon. 

Between  the  age  represented  by  Homer  and  Hesiod 
and  the  end  of  the  sixth  century  great  changes  took 
place  in  Greece,  essentially  altering  the  conditions  of 
social  and  political  life.  These  changes  were,  briefly 
stated,  the  overthrow  of  monarchies,  colonizing  move- 
ments, and  the  extension  of  commerce.  Where  there 
had  been  monarchies  we  now  find  either  oligarchies,  as 
in  Sparta  and  Athens,  or  tyrannies,'  as  in  Corinth, 
Lesbos,  and  Syracuse.  Toward  the  end  of  this  period 
democracies  took  the  place  of  tyrannies.  It  was 
a  period  of  revolutions,  and  revolutions  stir  men's 
minds  and  broaden  their  experiences.  The  tendency 
of  the  time  was  toward  the  liberty  of  tTie  individual. 
The  sending  out  of  colonies  and  the  expansion  of  com- 
merce were  results  of  the  political  unrest,  and  also 
tended  to  develop  the  individual  and  bring  the  private 
citizen  into  prominence. 

Now  lyric  poetry  is  essentially  the  expression  of 
the  individual.  It  delineates  the  poet's  own  thoughts 
and   feelings,   and    as  such    is  contrasted  with    epic 

*The  word  "tyrant"  in  Greek  does  not  necessarily  imply  an  oppressive 
ruler,  but  simply  one  who  has  usurped  authority  or  who  holds  it  by  uncon- 
stitutional means. 


112  Homer  to  Theocritus 

poetry,  the  narration  of  external  circumstances,  and 
with  dramatic  poetry,  the  representation  of  another's 
experiences.  The  Greeks  themselves  had  no  word 
which  corresponds  to  this  meaning  of  "lyric,"  which 
to  them  meant  only  that  which  is  sung  or  recited  to 
the  accompaniment  of  the  lyre.  They  used  less  com- 
prehensive designations  for  the  various  kinds  of  poetry 
that  were  neither  epic  nor  dramatic.  But  the  charac- 
teristics implied  in  our  modern  term  are  found  in  the 
Greek  poetry  of  which  we  speak,  and  are  traceable  to 
the  political  and  social  movements  above  outlined. 

The  germs  of  Greek  lyric  poetry  are  to  be  sought 
in  the  early  history  of  the  people.  We  have  already 
spoken  of  the  wedding-chant  and  the  dirge,  the  hymn 
to  the  gods,  and  the  people's  song  in  the  pre-Homeric 
days.  There  were  songs  appropriate  to  almost  every 
situation  in  life.  In  these  the  poet  found  occasion  to 
express  his  own  feelings,  and  they  all  developed  into 
recognized  branches  of  lyric  poetry.  Only  a  few 
remnants  of  these  early  attempts  are  preserved  to  us, 
of  which  one  of  the  oldest  and  the  most  interesting 
is  the  "Swallow  Song,"  which  the  boys  of  Rhodes 
sang  each  year,  going  fom  house  to  house  and  demand- 
ing a  present'for  the  good  news  of  returning  spring: 

She  is  here,  she  is  here,  the  swallow! 

Fair  seasons  bringing,  fair  seasons  to  follow! 

Her  belly  is  white, 

Her  back  black  as  night! 

From  your  rich  house 

Roll  forth  to  us 

Tarts,  wine,  and  cheese: 

Or  if  not  these. 

Oatmeal  and  barley-cake 

The  swallow  deigns  to  take. 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets    113 

What  shall  we  have?  or  must  we  hence  away? 
Thanks,  if  you  give;  if  not,  we'll  make  you  pay! 

The  house-door  hence  we  '11  carry; 

Nor  shall  the  lintel  tarry; 

From  hearth  and  home  your  wife  we'll  rob; 
She  is  so  small 

To  take  her  off  will  be  an  easy  job! 
Whate'er  you  give,  give  largess  free! 
Up!  open,  open  to  the  swallow's  call! 
No  grave  old  men,  but  merry  children  we! 

Symonds. 

We  have  also  a  Linus-song  of  great  antiquity: 

O,  Linus,  thee  the  gods  did  grace; 

For  unto  thee  they  gave,  most  dear, 
First  among  men  the  song  to  raise 

With  shrill  voice  sounding  high  and  clear; 
But  Phcebus  thee  in  anger  slays, 

And  Muses  mourn  around  thy  bier. 

Symonds. 

The  Greek  poetry  which  we  designate  as  lyric  was 
known  to  the  Greeks  themselves  under  three  general 
classes,  each  named  either  after  the  metre  employed 
or  the  manner  of  its  recitation.  These  classes  are 
Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic.  Their  literary  develop- 
ment was  in  this  order.  The  two  first  classes  received 
their  names  from  the  metres  used.  The  ancient  elegy 
was  always  composed  in  the  elegiac  couplet,  consisting 
of  a  dactylic  hexameter  followed  by  the  so-called  penta- 
meter.^ Iambic  poetry  was  written  in  the  iambic  verse, 
generally  consisting  of  six  iambic   feet.^     The  word 

'Illustrated  in  these  lines  of  Longfellow: 
Now  the  meadows  are  blooming  with  flowers  of  various  colors, 
And  with  untaught  throats  carol  the  garrulous  birds. 

'As  this  line  from  Shakespeare: 

Then  let's  make  haste  away  and  look  unto  the  main. 


1 14  Homer  to  Theocritus 

melic  is  derived  from  melos^  "song  (cf.  w^/ody),"  and 
was  applied  strictly  to  poetry  intended  for  singing. 
So  the  term  "choral"  was  used  for  melic  poetry  com- 
posed with  a  view  to  production  by  a  chorus  with  the 
accompaniment  of  the  dance.  To  these  three  classes 
of  lyric  poetry  should  be  added  the  epigram,  the  short 
commemorative  poem  designed  to  be  inscribed  on  a 
tombstone  or  monument  of  some  kind. 

The  Greek  word  for  elegy  is  believed  to  be  Phry- 
gian in  origin,  and  elegiac  poetry  was  always  in  early 
time  recited  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  flute,  which 
was  a  Phrygian  invention.  The  subject  of  the  Greek 
elegy  ranges  from  war  to  political  philosophy,  from 
moral  advice  to  the  pleasures  of  life,  but  it  is  always 
the  expression  of  the  poet's  own  feelings.  The  later 
Greek  elegy,  like  the  Roman  imitations,  was  largely 
on  the  subject  of  love.  But  the  modern  meaning, 
a  poem  of  sorrow  or  melancholy,  was  not  present  to 
the  mind  of  the  classical  Greeks. 

The  earliest  Greek  elegiac  poet  of  whom  we  know 

was  Callinus  of  Ephesus,  who  flourished  about  the  be- 
ginning of  the  seventh  century  B.  C.  In  the  one 
extant  poem  he  exhorts  his  countrymen  to  battle 
against  the  invading  barbarians: 

How  long  will  ye  slumber?  when  will  ye  take  heart 
And  fear  the  reproach  of  your  neighbors  at  hand? 
Fie!  comrades,  to  think  ye  have  peace  for  your  part, 
Whilst  the  sword  and  the  arrow  are  wasting  our  land! 
Shame!  grasp  the  shield  close!  cover  well  the  bold  breast! 
Aloft  raise  the  spear  as  ye  march  on  the  foe! 
With  no  thought  of  retreat,  with  no  terror  confessed, 
Hurl  your  last  dart  in  dying,  or  strike  your  last  blow. 
Oh,  'tis  noble  and  glorious  to  fight  for  our  all, — 
For  our  country,  our  children,  the  wife  of  our  love! 


^  \ 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets    115 

Death  comes  not  the  sooner;  no  soldier  shall  fall, 
Ere  his  thread  is  spun  out  by  the  sisters  above. 
Once  to  die  is  man's  doom;  rush,  rush  to  the  fight! 
He  cannot  escape,  though  his  blood  were  Jove's  own. 
For  a  while  let  him  cheat  the  shrill  arrow  by  flight; 
Fate  will  catch  him  at  last  in  his  chamber  alone. 
Unlamented  he  dies;  —  unregretted.     Not  so, 
When,  the  tower  of  his  country,  in  death  falls  the  brave; 
Thrice  hallowed  his  name  amongst  all,  high  or  low. 
As  with  blessings  alive,  so  with  tears  in  the  grave. 

Henry  Nelson  Coleridge. 

The  few  extant  elegies  of  Tyrtseus  very  closely 
resemble  in  subject  and  in  style  this  poem  of  Callinus. 
Tyrtaeus  lived  early  in  the  seventh  century,  and  is 
said  to  have  been  an  Athenian  who  migrated  to  Sparta 
when  the  Spartans  were  engaged  in  war  with  the  Mes- 
senians.  His  songs  so  thrilled  the  Spartans  that  they 
soon  brought  the  war  to  a  victorious  close.  His 
march  song  was  sung  before  and  during  battle,  and 
became  almost  the  national  hymn  of  the  Spartans. 
The  following  is  the  longest  extant  poem — an  Exhor- 
tation to  Battle. 

How  glorious  fall  the  valiant,  sword  in  hand, 
In  front  of  battle  for  their  native  land! 
But  oh!  what  ills  await  the  wretch  that  yields, 
A  recreant  outcast  from  his  country's  fields! 
The  mother  whom  he  loves  shall  quit  her  home, 
An  aged  father  at  his  side  shall  roam; 
His  little  ones  shall  weeping  with  him  go, 
And  a  young  wife  participate  his  woe; 
While  scorned  and  scowled  upon  by  every  face, 
They  pine  for  food,  and  beg  from  place  to  place. 
Stain  of  his  breed!  dishonoring  manhood's  form, 
All  ills  shall  cleave  to  him:  affliction's  storm 
Shall  blind  him  wandering  in  the  vale  of  years, 
Till,  lost  to  all  but  ignominious  fears, 


ii6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

He  shall  not  blush  to  leave  a  recreant's  name, 

And  children  like  himself,  inured  to  shame. 

But  we  will  combat  for  our  father's  land, 

And  we  will  drain  the  lifeblood  where  we  stand, 

To  save  our  children: — fight  ye  side  by  side, 

And  serried  close,  ye  men  of  youthful  pride, 

Disdaining  fear,  and  deeming  light  the  cost 

Of  life  itself  in  glorious  battle  lost. 

Leave  not  our  sires  to  stem  the  unequal  fight, 

Whose  limbs  are  nerved  no  more  with  buoyant  might; 

Nor,  lagging  backward,  let  the  younger  breast 

Permit  the  man  of  age  (a  sight  unblest) 

To  welter  in  the  combat's  foremost  thrust, 

His  hoary  head  disheveled  in  the  dust. 

And  venerable  bosom  bleeding  bare. 

But  youth's  fair  form,  though  fallen,  is  ever  fair, 

And  beautiful  in  death  the  boy  appears. 

The  hero  boy,  that  dies  in  blooming  years: 

In  man's  regret  he  lives,  and  woman's  tears; 

More  sacred  than  in  life,  and  lovelier  far. 

For  having  perished  in  the  front  of  war. 

Thomas  Campbell. 

Far  different  are  the  elegiacs  of  Mimnermus  of 
Smyrna,  who  lived  toward  the  end  of  the  seventh  cen- 
tury. Brought  up  in  the  soft  luxury  of  Ionia,  his 
poems  breathe  of  indolence  and  pleasure,  but  pervad- 
ing all  is  a  tender  melancholy  induced  by  the  reflec- 
tion that  youth  is  soon  past  and  old  age  and  death  are 
at  hand.  "When  the  flower  of  youth  is  past,"  he  says, 
"it  is  best  to  die  at  once,"  and  again,  "may  the  doom 
of  death  overtake  me,  free  from  disease  and  care,  in 
my  sixtieth  year."  This  poem  is  addressed  to  his 
sweetheart  Nanno: 

What's  life  or  pleasure  wanting  Aphrodite? 

When  to  the  gold-haired  goddess  cold  am  I, 
When  love  and  love's  soft  gifts  no  more  delight  me, 

Nor  stolen  dalliance,  then  I  fain  would  die! 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets    117 

Ah!  fair  and  lovely  bloom  the  flowers  of  youth; 

On  men  and  maids  they  beautifully  smile: 
But  soon  comes  doleful  eld,  who,  void  of  ruth, 

Indifferently  afflicts  the  fair  and  vile; 
Then  cares  wear  out  the  heart;  old  eyes  forlorn 

Scarce  reck  the  very  sunshine  to  behold — 
Unloved  by  youths,  of  every  maid  the  scorn — 

So  hard  a  lot  God  lays  upon  the  old. 

J.  A.  Symonds,  Sr. 

Solon,  the  great  lawgiver  of  Athens  and  one  of  the 
seven  sages  of  Greece  (first  part  of  sixth  century), 
used  the  elegy  both  as  a  vehicle  of  political  teaching 
and  to  record  his  reflections  on  life  in  general.  Some 
of  his  early  verses  stirred  the  Athenians  to  renew  the 
struggle  with  the  Megarians  for  the  possession  of 
Salamis.  "Up,  let  us  go  to  Salamis,  to  fight  for  the 
lovely  island  and  to  wipe  out  our  deep  disgrace." 
Referring  to  the  reforms  which  he  had  carried  through 
by  arbitrating  between  the  rich  and  the  poor,  he  says: 
"I  gave  the  common  folk  as  much  as  is  enough, 
neither  less  nor  more  than  their  due  meed;  but  as  to 
those  who  had  rule  and  the  splendor  of  wealth,  to 
those  also  I  gave  counsel,  even  that  they  should  not 
uphold  cruelty.  I  took  my  stand,  I  spread  my  strong 
shield  over  both,  and  suffered  neither  to  prevail  by 
wrong."  But  he  sees  the  dangers  that  encompass 
the  state:  "From  storm-clouds  descend  furious  snow 
and  hail,  and  thunder  is  born  of  bright  lightning;  so 
great  men  produce  the  overthrow  of  states,  and  into 
the  bondage  of  a  despot's  power  the  people  fall  unwit- 
tingly. Easy  it  is  to  raise  the  storm,  but  hard  to  curb 
the  whirlwind ;  yet  must  we  now  take  thought  of  all 
these  things." 

Solon's  prayer  is  interesting  for  the  light  which  it 


ii8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

throws  on  the  moral  ideals  of  the  time:  "Grant  us 
wealth  from  the  blessed  gods,  and  from  all  men  a  good 
name.  May  I  be  sweet  to  my  friend  and  bitter  to  my 
foe,  revered  by  the  one  and  dreaded  by  the  other. 
Money  I  desire,  but  no  ill-gotten  gain;  for  the  wealth 
that  the  gods  give  lasts  and  fleets  not  away,  but  the 
fruits  of  insolence  and  crime  bring  vengeance  sure, 
though  slow.  Zeus  seeth  all  things,  and  like  a  wind 
scattering  the  clouds,  which  shakes  the  deep  places  of 
the  sea  and  rages  over  the  corn  land,  and  comes  at 
last  to  heaven,  the  seat  of  gods,  and  makes  a  clear 
sky  to  be  seen,  whereupon  the  sun  breaks  out  in  glory 
and  the  clouds  are  gone — so  is  the  vengeance  of  Zeus. 
He  may  seem  to  forget,  but  sooner  or  later  he  strikes; 
perchance  the  guilty  man  escapes,  yet  his  blameless 
children  or  remote  posterity  pay  the  penalty." 

The  greatest  of  all  the  elegiac  poets  as  a  moral 
teacher  was  Theognis  of  Megara,  who  flourished  about 
550  B.  C.  His  poems  reveal  the  storm  and  stress  of 
the  period  in  which  he  lived.  Theognis  was  a  noble- 
man of  this  Dorian  city,  but  driven  out  and  dispos- 
sessed by  a  democratic  revolution  he  traveled  here 
and  there  in  exile,  his  thoughts  constantly  embittered 
by  his  own  evil  fortune.  Most  of  his  poems  were 
addressed  to  a  young  friend,  Cyrnus,  son  of  Polypas, 
to  whom  he  was  greatly  attached  and  for  whose 
guidance  and  instruction  he  wrote.  Because  of  the 
practical  worldly  wisdom  of  his  maxims  and  the 
respectability  of  his  views  Theognis  was  much  in 
vogue  throughout  the  Greek  world,  and  his  writings 
were  condensed  and  used  in  the  schools  by  the  side  of 
Homer  and   Hesiod  for  the  instruction  of  the  young. 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets   119 

A  part  of  this  collection  (about  1,400  lines)  has  come 
down  to  us.  A  few  selections  follow  in  Frere's 
translation : 

A   TRUE    FRIEND 

A  trusty  partisan,  faithful  and  bold, 
Is  worth  his  weight  in  silver  or  in  gold, 
For  times  of  trouble.     But  the  race  is  rare; 
Steady,  determined  men,  ready  to  share 
Good  or  ill  fortune!     Such,  if  such  there  are. 
Could  you  survey  the  world  and  search  it  round, 
And  bring  together  all  that  could  be  found, 
The  largest  company  you  could  enroll, 
A  single  vessel  could  embark  the  whole! 
So  few  there  are!  the  noble  manly  minds 
Faithful  and  firm,  the  men  that  honour  binds; 
Impregnable  to  danger  and  to  pain 
And  low  seduction  in  the  shape  of  gain. 

BREEDING 

With  kine  and  horses,  Cyrnus!  we  proceed 
By  reasonable  rules,  and  choose  a  breed 
For  profit  and  increase,  at  any  price; 
Of  a  sound  stock,  without  defect  or  vice. 

But,  in  the  daily  matches  that  we  make. 
The  price  is  everything;  tor  money's  sake 
Men  marry;  women  are  in  marriage  given: 
The  churl  or  ruffian  that  in  wealth  has  thriven 
May  match  his  offspring  with  the  proudest  race: 
Thus  everything  is  mix'd,  noble  and  base! 

If  then  in  outward  manner,  form,  and  mind 
You  find  us  a  degraded,  motley  kind. 
Wonder  no  more,  my  friend!  the  cause  is  plain, 
And  to  lament  the  consequence  is  vain. 

ADAPTATION 

Join  with  the  world;  adopt  with  every  man 
His  party  views,  his  temper,  and  his  plan; 


I20  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Strive  to  avoid  offense,  study  to  please. 
Like  the  sagacious  inmate  of  the  seas 
That  an  accommodating  colour  brings, 
Conforming  to  the  rock  to  which  he  clings, 
With  every  change  of  place  changing  his  hue; 
The  model  for  a  statesman  such  as  you. 

THEOGNIS'    PRAYER 

May  Jove  assist  me  to  discharge  the  debt 
Of  kindness  to  my  friends,  and  grant  me  yet 
A  further  boon — revenge  upon  my  foes! 
With  these  accomplished,  I  could  gladly  close 
My  term  of  life— a  fair  requital  made; 
My  friends  rewarded,  and  my  wrongs  repaid. 
Gratitude  and  revenge,  before  I  die. 
Might  make  me  deem'd  almost  a  deity! 

THE   BEST   LOT 

Not  to  be  born — never  to  see  the  sun — 
No  worldly  blessing  is  a  greater  one! 
And  the  next  best  is  speedily  to  die, 
And  lapt  beneath  a  load  of  earth  to  lie! 

RESIGNATION 

Entire  and  perfect  happiness  is  never 
Vouchsaf'd  to  man;  but  nobler  minds  endeavour 
To  keep  their  inward  sorrows  unreveal'd. 
With  meaner  spirits  nothing  is  conceal'd. 
Weak,  and  unable  to  conform  to  fortune. 
With  rude  rejoicing  or  complaint  importune, 
They  vent  their  exultation  or  distress. 
Whate'er  betides  us,  grief  or  happiness, 
The  brave  and  wise  will  bear  with  steady  mind, 
Th*  allotment  unforeseen  and  undefin'd 
Of  good  or  evil,  which  the  gods  bestow, 
Promiscuously  dealt  to  man  below. 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets    121 

THE   IMMORTAL   FAME    OF   CYRNUS 

Lo,  I  have  given  thee  plumes  wherewith  to  skim 
The  unfathomed  deep,  and  lightly  hover  around 
Earth's  huge  circumference.     Thou  shalt  be  found 
At  banquets  on  the  breath  of  paean  and  hymn: 
To  shrill-voiced  pipes  with  lips  of  seraphim, 

Lovely  young  men  thy  rapturous  fame  shall  sound; 
Yea,  when  thou  liest  lapped  in  the  noiseless  ground, 
Thy  name  shall  live,  nor  shall  oblivion  dim 
Thy  dawn  of  splendour.     For  these  lands,  these  isles, 
These  multitudinous  waves  of  refluent  seas. 
Shall  be  thy  pleasure-ground  wherethrough  to  roam, 
Borne  by  no  steed,  but  wafted  by  the  smiles 
Of  Muses  violet-crowned,  whose  melodies, 
While  earth  endures,  shall  make  all  earth  thy  home. 

Symonds. 

We  have  considered  above  the  greatest  of  the  poets 
of  this  period  who  are  known  as  elegiac  poets.  But 
the  elegy  was  cultivated  also  by  poets  whose  greatest 
achievements  lay  in  another  field,  and  throughout  the 
history  of  Greek  literature  the  elegant  elegiac  couplet 
was  used  by  poets  like  Simonides,  ^schylus,  and 
Sophocles,  by  prose  writers  such  as  Plato  and  Aristotle, 
and  a  host  of  others,  as  an  appropriate  vehicle  for  the 
expression  of  sentiments  in  honor  of  the  dead,  for 
commemorative  and  dedicatory  inscriptions,  for  con- 
ceits on  the  subject  of  love,  art,  and  in  fact  the 
whole  range  of  human  interests.  Most  of  those  now 
extant  are  found  in  a  collection  called  the  Anthology,^ 
in  which  are  preserved  several  thousand  short  poems, 
covering  a  range  of  over  a  thousand  years. 

The  light  and  rapid  iambic  measure,  from  which 

'This  Anthologry,— "  Garland  of  Flowers,"  or,  as  we  should  say,  "  Golden 
Treasury  of  Son^,''— was  collected  in  the  tenth  century  of  our  era.  Many 
other  epigrams  have  since  been  added  from  inscriptions  excavated  in 
Greece. 


122  Homer  to  Theocritus 

iambic  poetry  derives  its  name,  was  early  felt  to  be 
peculiarly  appropriate  to  sharp  and  swift  retort,  to 
pungent  raillery  and  biting  satire.  In  the  Homeric 
Hymn  to  Demeter  the  mourning  goddess  is  at  last  stirred 
to  laughter  by  the  bright  jests  of  a  girl,  lambe.  The 
iambic  rhythm  is  that  most  frequently  employed  in 
the  colloquial  language  of  common  life,  and  is  the  fit 
vehicle  for  dialogue  and  for  verse  that  deals  with 
topics  drawn  from  the  range  of  daily  experiences. 
It  received  the  satirical  stamp  which  was  afterward 
always  associated  with  the  word  "iambic"  from  the 
first  poet  who  employed  it  extensively,  Archilochus  of 
Paros. 

Archilochus  flourished  in  the  first  half  of  the  seventh 
century.  His  life  was  full  of  adventure  and  romance. 
He  is  said  to  have  been  engaged  to  be  married  to 
Neobule,  whose  father  withdrew  his  consent  to  the 
match.  Archilochus  then  in  iambic  verse  publicly 
denounced  his  former  sweetheart,  her  father,  and  her 
sisters,  scathing  them  with  all  the  vehemence  of  his 
venomous  nature.  Neobule  and  her  sisters  straight- 
way hanged  themselves,  as  the  story  goes.  However 
fanciful  this  story  may  be,  the  fact  remains  that 
Archilochus  was  a  poet  of  vigor,  cruel  wit,  and  a  genius 
for  personal  satire.  He  was  ranked  by  the  Greeks 
among  their  greatest  and  most  original  poets,  and  the 
iambic  verse,  which  he  brought  to  perfection,  was 
destined  to  play  a  great  part  in  the  most  perfect  of 
literary  forms  which  Greece  produced — the  drama. 
Unfortunately  only  a  few  fragments  of  his  writings 
remain,  and  for  most  of  these  no  verse  translation 
exists.  Characteristic  are:  '*One  thing  I  can — 
requite  with  great  ill  the  man  who  does  me  ill,"  and 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets   123 

**0  Lord  Apollo,  point  me  out  the  guilty  and  smite 
them  as  thou  canst  smite."  Another  side  of  his  char- 
acter, as  of  his  genius,  is  revealed  in  these  splendid 
trochaic  verses,  addressed  to  his  own  soul : 

Tossed  on  a  sea  of  troubles,  Soul,  my  Soul, 

Thyself  do  thou  control 

And  to  the  weapons  of  advancing  foes 

A  stubborn  breast  oppose; 

Undaunted  'mid  the  hostile  might 

Of  squadrons  burning  for  the  fight. 

Thine  be  no  boasting  when  the  victor's  crown 

Wins  the  deserved  renown; 

Thine  no  dejected  sorrow  when  defeat 

Would  urge  a  base  retreat: 

Rejoice  in  joyous  things — nor  overmuch 

Let  grief  thy  bosom  touch 

'Midst  evil,  and  still  bear  in  mind, 

How  changeful  are  the  ways  of  humankind. 

William  Hay. 

Symonds  has  translated  three  exquisite  lines,  a  pic- 
ture of  a  young  girl.  "Greek  sculpture  is  not  more 
pure  in  outline  than  this  fragment": 

Holding  a  myrtle-rod  she  blithely  moved, 
And  a  fair  blossoming  rose;  the  flowing  tresses 
Shadowed  her  shoulders,  falling  to  her  girdle. 

Of  the  two  other  poets  who  inaugurated  iambic 
satire  in  Greece,  Semonides  of  Amorgos  and  Hipponax 
of  Ephesus,  there  is  little  to  say.  From  the  few  verses 
of  the  latter  which  survive  it  is  clear  that  he  was  vul- 
gar, if  clever.  Semonides  has  many  disagreeable  and 
spiteful  things  to  say  about  women.  Already  the 
Greeks,  especially  the  lonians,  had  departed  from  the 
chivalrous  attitude  toward  women  which  characterized 
the  Homeric  age,  and  we  find  more  and  more  evidence 


124  Homer  to  Theocritus 

of  the  influence  of  Oriental  ideals  in  this  respect  as  we 
approach  the  classical  period. 

The  poems  belonging  to  the  two  branches  of  lyric 
poetry  which  we  have  considered  were  essentially  in- 
tended for  recitation.  Melic  poetry,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  the  poetry  of  song.  Unlike  the  greater  number  of 
poems  of  the  same  order  in  English,  which  generally 
are  not  set  to  music,  the  musical  accompaniment  was 
an  essential  part  of  Greek  melic  poetry.  The  poet 
was  also  a  musical  composer.  The  instrument  which 
was  used  for  the  accompaniment  was  the  harp  or  lyre. 
This  instrument  had  been  known  to  the  Greeks  from 
remote  times;  its  invention  was  attributed  to  Hermes. 
But  the  early  lyre  had  only  four  strings;  the  musical 
element  in  song  in  Homeric  times  must  consequently 
have  been  of  a  very  simple,  monotonous  nature.  The 
invention  of  the  Seven-stringed  lyre,  whose  range  was, 
of  course,  a  complete  octave,  was  attributed  by 
antiquity  to  Terpander  of  Lesbos,  who  flourished 
about  660  B.  C.  The  rapid  development  of  melic 
poetry  after  this  epoch  was  a  natural  consequence  of 
this  invention. 

Choral  poetry  must  be  distinguished  as  a  separate 
branch  of  melic  poetry,  for  a  third  element,  not  found 
in  the  latter,  was  essential  to  it — the  dance.  The 
fact,  too,  that  the  choral  was  sung  by  a  chorus  of 
persons,  and  not  by  an  individual,  led  to  an  important 
distinction.  A  chorus  must  be  organized  and  trained. 
Therefore,  while  the  simple  song  could  be  rendered 
on  any  occasion  in  private  life,  the  choral  belonged 
rather  to  public  life  and  assumed  a  much  more  elab- 
orate and  formal  character.  Choral  performances 
were   especially    appropriate   to   occasions   of   public 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets   125 

worship  or  to  the  celebration  of  events  in  which  the 
public  was  especially  interested.  Another  distinction 
arises  out  of  these  differences:  the  song  was  per- 
fected by  the  ^olians  of  Lesbos,  whose  social  and 
political  conditions  tended  to  develop  the  individual 
and  whose  temperament  was  easily  stirred  to  expres- 
sion of  personal  feelings;  but  the  choral  reached  its 
earliest  development  among  the  Dorians  of  Sparta, 
where  the  state  was  everything  and  the  individual 
nothing.  We  shall  consider  first  the  melic  poets  of 
the  Lesbian  school. 

The  life  of  the  earliest  great  poet  of  the  Lesbian 
school,  Alcaeus,  seems  to  have  been  as  stormy  as  the 
political  condition  of  his  own  island.  He  belonged  to 
the  nobility,  which  was  engaged  in  constant  struggles 
against  one  tyrant  after  another.  During  a  period  of 
exile  he  took  refuge  in  Egypt  and  saw  service  in  the 
army  under  the  Pharaoh.  The  latter  part  of  his  life 
he  spent  in  Lesbos,  having  become  reconciled  with 
his  former  enemy,  the  famous  tyrant  Pittacus,  one  of 
the  seven  sages.  There  is  a  tradition  that  he  loved 
his  countrywoman,  the  poet  Sappho,  to  whom  he  said: 
''Chaste  Sappho,  violet-tressed,  softly  smiling,  I  fain 
would  speak,  but  shame  restrains  me."  Sappho's 
answer  is  recorded :  "Hadst  thou  felt  desire  for  things 
good  or  noble,  and  hadst  not  thy  tongue  framed  some 
evil  speech,  shame  had  not  filled  thy  eyes,  but  thou 
hadst  spoken  honestly  about  it."  Only  a  few  frag- 
ments of  the  poems  of  Alcaeus^  survive,  and  these  are 

^The  Alcaic  stanza,  which  is  named  for  Alcaeus,  was  a  favorite  of  Hor- 
ace.   These  lines  of  Tennyson  represent  it : 

O  mighty-mouthed  inventor  of  harmonies, 
O  skilled  to  sing  of  time  or  eternity, 
God-gifted  organ  voice  of  England, 
Milton,  a  name  to  resound  for  ages. 


126                   Homer  to  Theocritus  j 

not  fair  specimens  of  his  poetical  skill.     The  finest  is  ; 
an   allegory — the    storm-tossed    state — translated   by  \ 

Sir  William  Jones:  ] 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  wild  waves  sweep, 
Whilst  we,  betwixt  them,  o'er  the  deep 

111  shattered  tempest  beaten  bark  > 

With  labouring  ropes  are  onward  driven,  I 

The  billows  dashing  o'er  our  dark  ;; 

Upheaved  deck  —  in  tatters  riven  .': 

Our  sails  —  whose  yawning  rents  between  | 

The  raging  sea  and  sky  are  seen.  i 

Loose  from  their  hold  our  anchors  burst,  ■ 

And  then  the  third,  the  fated  wave,  i 

Comes  rolling  onward  like  the  first,  ; 

And  doubles  all  our  toil  to  save.  ■ 

Most  of  the  fragments  have  to  do  with  wine.  The  ' 
following  description  of  a  winter  day  furnished  the  ; 
model  for  one  of  the  best-known  odes  of  the  Roman  j 

poet  Horace,  who  was  deeply  indebted  to  Alcaeus.  j 

The  rain  of  Zeus  descends,  and  from  high  heaven 

A  storm  is  driven: 
And  on  the  running  water-brooks  the  cold 

Lays  icy  hold:  : 
Then  up:  beat  down  the  winter;  make  the  fire 

Blaze  high  and  higher;  j 

Mix  wine  as  sweet  as  honey  of  the  bee  ; 

Abundantly;  5 
Then  drink  with  comfortable  wool  around 

Your  temples  bound.  > 

We  must  not  yield  our  hearts  to  woe,  or  wear  j 

With  lasting  care;  t 

For  grief  will  profit  us  no  whit,  my  friend,  '^ 

Nor  nothing  mend:  J 

But  this  our  best  medicine,  with  wine  fraught  \ 

To  cast  out  thought. 

Symonds. 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets   127 

Of  the  life  of  Sappho,  the  greatest  poet  of  the  Les- 
bian school,  very  little  is  known  with  certainty.  The 
accounts  which  have  come  down  to  us  were  compiled 
centuries  after  her  time,  after  her  personality,  of 
unique  interest  in  the  history  of  literature,  had 
become  enveloped  in  a  haze  of  romantic  and  malicious 
fables.  She  was  a  native  of  Mytilene,  the  capital  of 
Lesbos,  and  belonged  to  the  highest  nobility  of  the 
island.  That  she  lived  about  the  beginning  of  the 
sixth  century  is  inferred  from  her  acquaintance  with 
Alcaeus.  She  is  said  to  have  gone  in  exile  to  Sicily, 
owing,  doubtless,  to  the  political  troubles  in  which  the 
Lesbian  aristocracy  was  involved.  She  was  the  cen- 
tre of  a  club  of  women  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of 
poetry,  such  an  association  as  ^olian  and  Dorian 
women  often  formed,  comparable  to  the  group  of 
Socrates  and  his  followers  in  Athens.  She  was  mar- 
ried to  a  wealthy  Andrian,  to  whom  she  bore 
a  daughter,  of  whom  she  sings: 

I  have  a  child,  a  lovely  one, 

In  beauty  like  the  golden  sun. 

Or  like  sweet  flowers  of  earliest  bloom; 

And  CleTs  is  her  name,  for  whom 

I  Lydia's  treasures,  were  they  mine, 

Would  glad  resign. 

Merivale. 

The  ancients  tell  of  her  unrequited  love  for  a  beauti- 
ful youth  named  Phaon,  for  whom  she  threw  herself 
from  the  Leucadian  cliff  into  the  sea.  But  this 
romance  does  not  appear  until  three  centuries  after 
her  death  and  is  probably  pure  fable. 

Antiquity  was  of  one  mind  as  regards  Sappho's 
merits   as   a   poet.      She   was    known   simply   as   ''the 


128  Homer  to  Theocritus 

poetess,"  just  as  Homer  was  "the  poet."  Plato  said 
of  her: 

Some  thoughtlessly  proclaim  the  Muses  nine; 
A  tenth  is  Lesbian  Sappho,  maid  divine. 

In  this  verdict  modern  writers  have  unanimously 
concurred.  Mr.  Symonds  says:  "The  world  has 
suffered  no  greater  literary  loss  than  the  loss  of 
Sappho's  poems.  So  perfect  in  the  smallest  frag- 
ments that  we  muse  in  a  sad  rapture  of  astonishment 
to  think  what  the  complete  poems  must  have  been.  .  .  . 
Of  all  the  poets  of  the  world,  of  all  the  illustrious 
artists  of  all  literature,  Sappho  is  the  one  whose  every 
word  has  a  peculiar  and  unmistakable  perfume,  a  seal 
of  absolute  perfection  and  inimitable  grace."  Her  in- 
fluence upon  lyric  poetry  in  ancient  and  modern  times 
has  been  marked. 

Sappho  was  preeminently  a  poet  whose  songs  were 
but  the  natural  outpourings  of  the  soul.  All  the  pas- 
sion of  her  ^olian  blood,  her  intense  love  of  beauty 
in  nature,  her  every  thought  and  feeling,  found  unre- 
strained expression  in  her  poems.  To  the  Athenians 
of  a  later  day  the  freedom  which  the  ^olians  and 
Dorians  allowed  their  women  was  unintelligible.  In 
Athens  the  brilliant  women  who  shone  in  male  society 
were  exclusively  of  one  class.  In  the  phrase  of  Peri- 
cles the  ideal  of  womanly  virtue  was  "not  to  be  talked 
about  for  good  or  evil  among  men."  It  is  not  sur- 
prising, therefore,  that  later  Greek  tradition  miscon- 
strued her  perfect  frankness  and  traduced  her  good 
name.  But  to-day  only  the  ignorant  fail  to  discover 
the  sources  from  which  calumnies  against  her  character 
have  sprung.     To  such  ignorance,    however,   is   due 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets   129 

the  fact  that  so  little  now  remains  of  her  poems  and 
those  of  her  contemporaries,  for  the  early  Christian 
emperors  commanded  them  to  be  burned.  Only  one 
complete  poem  survives,  the  larger  part  of  another, 
and  a  considerable  number  of  short  fragments.  The 
Sapphic  stanza,  brought  to  perfection  by  her,  is  imi- 
tated in  the  first  of  the  following  translations: 

PRAYER   TO   APHRODITE 

Glittering-throned,  undying  Aphrodite, 
Wile-weaving  daughter  of  high  Zeus,  I  pray  thee 
Tame  not  my  soul  with  heavy  woe,  dread  mistress, 

Nay,  nor  with  anguish! 
But  hither  come,  if  ever  erst  of  old  time 
Thou  didst  incline  and  listenedst  to  my  crying 
And  from  thy  father's  palace  down  descending 

Camest  with  golden 
Chariot  yoked:  thee  fair  swift-flying  sparrows 
Over  dark  earth  with  multitudinous  fluttering 
Pinion  on  pinion,  through  middle  ether 

Down  from  heaven  hurried. 
Quickly  they  came  like  light,  and  thou,  blest  lady, 
Smiling  with  clear  undying  eyes  didst  ask  me 
What  was  the  woe  that  troubled  me,  and  wherefore 

I  cried  to  thee  ; 
What  thing  I  longed  for  to  appease  my  frantic 
Soul;  and  whom  now  must  I  persuade,  thou  askedst, 
Whom  must  entangle  to  thy  love,  and  who  now, 

Sappho,  hath  wronged  thee? 
Yea,  for  if  now  he  shun,  he  soon  shall  chase  thee; 
Yea,  if  he  take  not  gifts,  he  soon  shall  give  them; 
Yea,  if  he  love  not,  soon  shall  he  begin  to 

Love  thee,  unwillinglyo 
Come  to  me  now  too,  and  from  tyrannous  sorrow 
Free  me,  and  all  things  that  my  soul  desires  to 
Have  done,  do  for  me,  queen,  and  let  thyself  too 

Be  my  great  ally. 

J.  A.  SymondSj 

rr  THE 


IJO  Homer  to  Theocritus 


TO   A    LOVED    ONE 

Blest  as  the  immortal  gods  is  he, 
The  youth  who  fondly  sits  by  thee, 
And  hears  and  sees  thee  all  the  while 
Softly  speak  and  sweetly  smile. 

'Twas  this  deprived  my  soul  of  rest, 
And  raised  such  tumults  in  my  breast; 
For  while  I  gazed,  in  transport  lost, 
My  breath  was  gone,  my  voice  was  lost: 

My  bosom  glowed;  all  the  subtle  flame 
Ran  quick  through  all  my  vital  frame; 
O'er  my  dim  eyes  a  darkness  hung; 
My  ears  with  hollow  murmurs  rung. 

In  dewy  damp  my  limbs  were  chilled; 
My  blood  with  gentle  horror  thrilled; 
My  feeble  pulse  forgot  to  play; 
I  fainted,  sank,  and  died  away. 

Ambrose  Phillips. 

TO    A   MAIDEN 

Of  foliage  and  flowers  love-laden 

Twine  wreaths  for  thy  flowing  hair, 
With  thine  own  soft  fingers,  maiden, 

Weave  garlands  of  parsley  fair. 
For  flowers  are  sweet,  and  the  Graces 

On  suppliants  wreathed  with  may 
Look  down  from  their  heavenly  places. 

But  turn  from  the  crownless  away. 

Symonds. 

A   GIRL   IN   LOVE 

Oh,  my  sweet  mother,  'tis  in  vain, 
I  cannot  weave  as  once  I  wove, 

So  wildered  is  my  heart  and  brain 

With  thinking  of  that  youth  I  love. 

Thomas  Moore. 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets    131 

MIDNIGHT 

The  moon  hath  left  the  sky: 
Lost  is  the  Pleiads'  light: 

It  is  midnight 
And  time  slips  by: 
But  on  my  couch  alone  I  lie. 

Symonds. 

Anacreon  of  Teos  lived  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
sixth  century.  Gaining  celebrity  as  a  poet  at  the 
court  of  the  tyrant  Polycrates  of  Samos,  he  was  sum- 
moned to  Athens  to  adorn  the  court  of  the  tyrant 
Hipparchus.  Athens  was  fast  becoming  the  literary 
centre  of  Greece.  Anacreon  was  a  poet  of  pleasure, 
singing  of  little  but  love  and  wine.  A  large  number 
of  the  poems  handed  down  under  his  name  are  spurious 
and  of  late  origin,  and  though  often  very  pretty,  have 
no  place  in  this  work. 


CHAPTER    VI 

CHORAL    LYRIC.       PINDAR 

The  Dorian  School  —  Alcman  —  Stesichorus  —  Arion  —  Simon- 
ides —  Bacchylides  —  Pindar — His  Life  —  The  Festivals 
and  Games  —  The  Epinician  Ode  —  Analysis  of  the  Seventh 
Olympian  —  Pindar's  Preludes  —  The  Future  Life  in  Pin- 
dar—  Fragment  of  a  Dirge. 

We  turn  now  to  the  lyric  poets  of  the  Dorian 
school.  The  Dorians  themselves  seem  to  have  pro- 
duced very  few  poets,  but  Sparta  attracted  from  out- 
side some  poets  of  the  first  order  who  succeeded  won- 
derfully in  catching  the  spirit  of  Dorian  institutions 
and  in  conforming  to  the  requirements  of  Dorian 
taste.  Now  Sparta  was  strictly  a  military  state,  and 
all  of  its  institutions  conformed  to  the  demands  of 
a  society  organized  for  the  production  of  soldiers. 
All  sentiments  except  those  of  partiotism  and  religion 
were  discouraged.  The  themes  of  their  poets  must  be 
the  glorious  traditions  of  the  race,  the  praise  of  the 
gods,  a  victory  of  some  Dorian  in  the  athletic  games, 
the  celebration  of  some  important  civic  event,  and  the 
like.  Furthermore,  the  lyric  poet  should  voice  iiot 
his  own  sentiments,  but  those  of  the  people,  and  his 
song  must  be  of  a  kind  in  which  the  public  could 
participate.  The  result  was  a  highly  developed  choral 
lyric,  in  which  the  words  and  music  were  supplemented 
by  the  stately  evolutions  of  the  chorus.  The  stamp 
of  the  Dorian  genius  was  so  impressed  upon  this 
branch  of  poetry  that  the  choral,  even  when  composed 

132 


Choral  Lyric.     Pindar  133 

by  an  Athenian  or  Boeotian,  always  retained  the  Doric 
dialect  (see  page  9).  Of  choral  lyric  there  were  as 
many  varieties  as  there  were  occasions  which  called 
for  the  song.  We  shall  have  occasion  to  notice 
a  number  of  these  varieties. 

Alcman  was  one  of  the  earliest  of  the  Dorian  lyric 
poets  (660  B.  C).  It  was  he  who  first  gave  an  artistic 
form  to  the  choral  ode  by  arranging  it  in  balancing 
stanzas,  the  first  stanza,  or  strophe  ("turning"), 
accompanying  an  evolution  of  the  chorus  to  the  right; 
the  second,  or  antistrophe,  a  corresponding  movement 
to  the  left,  and  so  on  through  the  ode.  The  longest 
and  most  notable  fragment  remaining,  discovered  in 
Egypt  in  1855,  is  a  choral  for  maidens,  a  branch 
in  which  Alcman  gained  especial  distinction.  His 
description  of  a  night  in  Lacedaemon  shows  a  true 
sympathy  with  nature:  "The  summits  of  the  moun- 
tains are  sleeping,  and  the  ravines,  the  headlands,  and 
the  torrent  courses,  the  leaves  that  the  black  earth 
nourishes,  and  all  creeping  things,  the  wild  creatures 
of  the  hills,  and  the  race  of  bees,  and  the  monsters  in 
the  depths  of  the  dark  sea,  and  sleep  is  upon  the 
tribes  of  the  wide-winged  birds." 

Stesichorus^  of  Sicily  (620  B.  C.)  perfected  the  form 
of  the  choral  lyric  by  adding  a  third  member  to  each 
pair  of  stanzas,  the  epode,  sung  by  the  chorus  stand- 
ing, after  the  two  preceding  evolutions  of  strophe  and 
antistrophe.  His  Palinode  (Recantation)  to  Helen  was 
famous.  In  an  ode  he  had  told  the  usual  story  about 
Helen's  flight  to  Troy,  and  of  the  misery  her  sin  had 
caused.      Thereupon  he  was  stricken  with  blindness, 

'His  real  name  was  Tisias,  but  he  was  called  Stesichorus,  "Marshal 
of  Choruses,"  from  his  skill  as  a  choral  poet. 


134  Homer  to  Theocritus 

for  Helen  had  become  a  goddess.  So  he  wrote  the 
Palinode^  beginning:  "Not  true  is  this  story.  Thou 
didst  not  go  in  the  well-benched  ships,  nor  didst  thou 
come  to  the  citadel  of  Troy."  He  then  develops  the 
fiction  that  a  phantom  of  Helen  was  taken  to  Troy, 
and  his  sight  was  promptly  restored. 

Arion  of  Corinth,  a  Lesbian  by  birth,  was  a  little 
later  than  Stesichorus,  and  claims  a  large  place  in  the 
history  of  the  choral  lyric.  It  was  he  who  elaborated 
the  dithyramb,  or  the  choral  hymn  to  Dionysus,  out  of 
which  tragedy  developed.  He  fixed  the  number  of 
the  chorus  at  fifty,  and  seems  to  have  given  a  distinc- 
tive character  to  the  evolutions  of  the  dithyrambic 
chorus  and  to  the  manner  of  the  performance. 
Herodotus  tells  a  quaint  story  of  how  he  was  thrown 
into  the  sea  by  pirates  and  was  carried  safely  to  land 
by  dolphins,  charmed  by  his  singing. 

With  Simonides  of  Ceos  a  new  era  in  lyric  poetry 
begins.  Toward  the  end  of  the  sixth  century  Athens 
succeeded  in  ridding  herself  of  the  tyrants  Hippias 
and  Hipparchus,  and  established  the  democracy. 
These  rulers,  on  the  whole  enlightened  sovereigns, 
had  drawn  a  large  number  of  brilliant  literary  men  to 
Athens,  among  whom  were  Anacreon  and  Simonides. 
Soon  after  the  establishment  of  the  democracy  Athens 
and  Greece  passed  through  the  tremendous  struggle 
for  freedom  with  the  Persians,  the  invasion  of  Darius 
culminating  at  Marathon  and  the  second  attack  under 
Xerxes  being  repulsed  at  Salamis  and  Plataea — glori- 
ous victories  in  which  all  Greece  had  a  share,  though 
to  Athens  fell  the  largest  part.  The  Greeks  began  to 
feel  that  they  were  one  people  and  that  Athens  was 
their  leader  and  champion.     From  this  time  on  Athens 


Choral  Lyric.     Pindar  135 

oecame  the  literary  centre  of  Greece,  and  for  two 
centuries  the  history  of  Greek  literature  can  almost  be 
said  to  be  that  of  Athenian  literature. 

The  life  of  Simonides  fell  in  these  stirring  times. 
The  greater  portion  of  his  life  he  spent  at  the  courts 
of  the  tyrants.  But  he  identified  himself  at  once  with 
the  Athenian  democracy,  and  after  the  Persian  wars 
voiced  the  sentiments  of  liberty-loving  Greece  in  the 
famous  epigrams  on  the  fallen  to  which  we  have 
already  referred.  He  died  at  the  court  of  Hiero, 
in  Syracuse,  loaded  with  honors.  Highly  gifted  by 
nature,  Simonides  was  yet  a  professional  poet  who 
tuned  his  lyre  according  to  the  pay.  The  story  is 
told  that  he  once  received  a  commission  to  write 
a  poem  in  celebration  of  a  victory  won  by  a  team  of 
mules.  He  refused,  alleging  that  the  subject  was  too 
ignoble  for  his  muse.  But  when  the  reward  was 
increased  he  wrote  the  spirited  poem  which  begins, 
"Hail!  ye  daughters  of  horses,  swift  as  the  winds." 
Simonides  won  distinction  in  almost  every  branch  of 
lyric  poetry,  especially  in  epinicia,  or  odes  celebrating 
victories  in  the  games — a  branch  in  which  he  was  the 
rival  of  Pindar — and  in  the  epigram.  The  following 
beautiful  fragment  of  a  dirge  is  extant.  Danae  and 
her  babe  Perseus,  her  son  by  Zeus,  are  adrift  at  sea 
in  a  chest,  committed  to  the  waves  to  die  by  Danae's 
father : 

When,  in  the  carven  chest, 
The  winds  that  blew  and  waves  in  wild  unrest 
Smote  her  with  fear,  she,  not  with  cheeks  unwet, 
Her  arms  of  love  round  Perseus  set. 
And  said:  O  child,  what  grief  is  mine! 
But  thou  dost  slumber,  and  thy  baby  breast 
Is  sunk  in  rest, 


136  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Here  in  the  cheerless  brass-bound  bark, 
Tossed  amid  starless  night  and  pitchy  dark. 

Nor  dost  thou  heed  the  scudding  brine 
Of  waves  that  wash  above  thy  curls  so  deep, 
Nor  the  shrill  winds  that  sweep, — 
Lapped  in  thy  purple  robe's  embrace, 

Fair  little  face! 
But  if  this  dread  were  dreadful  too  to  thee, 
Then  wouldst  thou  lend  thy  listening  ear  to  me; 
Therefore  I  cry,  —  Sleep,  babe,  and  sea,  be  still. 
And  slumber  our  unmeasured  ill! 

Oh,  may  some  change  of  fate,  sire  Zeus,  from  thee 
Descend,  our  woes  to  end! 
But  if  this  prayer,  too  overbold,  offend 
Thy  justice,  yet  be  merciful  to  me! 

J.  A.  Symonds. 

Bacchylides,  the  nephew  of  Simonides,  was  also 
a  court  poet.  Although  he  was  far  inferior  as  a  poet 
to  his  uncle,  a  universal  interest  attaches  to  him  at 
present  from  the  fact  that  a  papyrus  roll  containing 
twenty  of  his  odes  was  discovered  in  Egypt  in  1896 
and  acquired  by  the  British  Museum.  Before  that 
time  only  a  few  pages  of  short  fragments  were  pre- 
served. Most  of  his  odes  were  written  to  celebrate 
victories  at  the  athletic  games,  but  several  are  of 
a  religious  import.  In  one  of  the  later  occurs  a  pretty 
scene.  Theseus  and  the  Athenian  youths  who  were 
offered  yearly  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  Minotaur  are  on 
the  ship  with  Minos,  king  of  Crete.  Minos  insults 
one  of  the  maidens,  whereat  young  Theseus  defies  the 
king,  who  throws  a  ring  into  the  sea,  challenging 
Theseus  to  prove  his  divine  origin. 

"Into  the  waves  leapt  the  hero,  and  gentle  eyes  dropped  a 
tear,  boding  dire  disaster.  But  dolphins,  denizens  of  the  sea, 
bore  strong  Theseus  swiftly  to  the  palace  of  the  knightly  sire. 


Choral  Lyric.      Pindar  137 

He  reached  the  gods'  abode,  and  there  beheld  with  awe  the 
daughters  of  blessed  Nereus;  for  from  their  glorious  limbs 
gleamed  a  radiance  as  of  fire  as  with  supple  feet  they  delighted 
their  heart  in  the  dance.  And  Amphitrite  threw  about  him 
a  purple  mantle,  and  on  his  shining  locks  set  a  faultless  wreath 
twined  with  roses,  a  wedding-gift  once  from  Aphrodite.  At 
the  ship's  stern  he  rose.  Ah!  in  what  thoughts  he  disturbed 
the  Cretan  king  when  he  came  from  the  sea  undrenched,  a 
marvel  to  all.  On  his  limbs  gleamed  the  god's  gifts,  and  the 
radiant  maidens  with  new-born  courage  lifted  up  a  shout  of 
joy.  The  sea  resounded  with  the  peal,  and  the  boys  standing 
near  with  sweet  voices  raised  a  paean  of  praise." 

As  ^olian  song  reached  its  highest  point  with 
Sappho,  so  the  Dorian  choral  ode  culminates  in  Pindar, 
its  latest  representative.  But  though  Pindar's  odes 
were  Dorian  in  form,  continuing  and  perfecting  the 
traditions  which  began  with  Alcman  and  Stesichorus, 
yet  Pindar,  like  Simonides,  was  thoroughly  Pan-Hel- 
lenic in  spirit,  belonging  to  no  one  branch  of  the 
Greek  people.  Born  at  Thebes,  in  Boeotia,  in  522  B. 
C,  of  an  old  aristocratic  family,  he  was  early  trained 
in  music  and  in  poetry  for  a  professional  career.  Of 
the  details  of  his  life  we  have  little  knowledge,  but  he 
certainly  traveled  widely,  visiting  both  the  scenes  of 
the  great  national  games  which  he  celebrated,  and  the 
countries  of  his  royal  patrons.  He  died  about  452, 
after  an  active  literary  career  of  fifty  years. 

Pindar  was  some  thirty  years  the  junior  of  Simon- 
ides. He  had  scarcely  made  his  debut  in  the  literary 
world  when  the  threatening  storm  of  the  Persian  inva- 
sion roused  all  Greece  to  united  action  in  defense  of 
liberty.  The  glorious  share  which  Simonides  had  in 
perpetuating  the  memory  of  the  heroism  of  Marathon, 
Thermopylae,   Salamis,   and   Plataea  has  already  been 


138  Homer  to  Theocritus 

mentioned.  Pindar  was  no  less  loyal  than  his  elder 
rival,  but  Thebes,  his  native  city,  alone  of  all  the 
states  of  central  and  southern  Greece,  held  herself 
aloof  and  even  supported  the  barbarian.  Pindar 
nowhere  speaks  openly  of  his  state's  disgrace,  but  his 
deep  sympathy  with  the  cause  of  Greek  freedom  is 
shown  in  the  allusion  to  "the  intolerable  suffering  for 
Hellas  which  some  god  hath  turned  aside  for  us,"  and 
by  his  memorable  apostrophe  to  "violet-crowned, 
illustrious  Athens,  the  theme  of  poets,  bulwark  of 
Greece."  But  it  was  not  Pindar's  good  fortune  to  be 
the  poet  of  Greek  liberty.  His  title  to  be  called  the 
poet  of  all  Hellas,  and  not  of  one  section  alone,  arises 
rather  from  his  connection  with  the  great  national 
festivals,  in  which  all  branches  of  the  Greek  race  came 
together  as  one  people. 

These  festivals  were  four  in  number.  The  Olym- 
pian, in  honor  of  Zeus,  were  held  at  Olympia,  in  Elis, 
once  in  four  years.  The  prize  for  the  victors  in  the 
games  was  a  wreath  of  wild  olive  The  next  in 
importance  was  the  Pythian,  held  at  Delphi  every  four 
years  in  honor  of  Apollo.  The  prizes  were  a  wreath  of 
laurel  and  a  palm  branch.  The  Isthmian  and  Nemean 
were  of  lesser  importance  compared  with  the  two 
others,  and  were  celebrated  every  two  years,  the  one 
at  Corinth,  in  honor  of  Poseidon,  the  other  at  Nemea 
in  Argolis,  in  honor  of  Zeus.  The  prizes  were  wreaths 
of  parsley  and  of  pine  respectively.  It  is  hard  for 
us  to  realize  the  immense  importance  which  attached 
to  these  religious  gatherings.  The  Greeks  flocked  to 
them  from  all  corners  of  the  Mediterranean.  A  sacred 
truce  from  hostilities  was  observed  during  the  festival, 
and   safe   conduct  was  guaranteed   by   each   state   to 


Choral  Lyric.     Pindar  139 

every  pilgrim  passing  through  its  territory.  The  prin- 
cipal events  of  the  festival  were  the  athletic  contests, 
to  which  only  Greeks  of  pure  descent  were  admitted. 
Of  these  the  most  important  was  the  foot-race,  ''the 
two  hundred  yards  dash."  The  victor  in  this  event 
at  Olympia  gave  his  name  to  the  whole  period  of  four 
years.  Even  sober  historians  like  Thucydides  date 
political  events  by  the  Olympiad  *Mn  which  So-and-so 
won  the  foot-race."  Princes  and  men  of  wealth  alone 
could  contend  in  the  chariot-race,  but  the  highest 
honor  of  all  could  be  won  by  the  humblest.  The  victor 
lent  distinction  to  his  native  town  forever,  and  the 
greatest  poets  and  sculptors  were  called  upon  to  per- 
petuate the  fame  of  the  victor,  his  family,  and  his  city. 

Pindar  was  of  all  the  poets  of  his  time  the  best 
fitted  by  birth,  training,  and  genius  to  do  justice  to 
such  subjects  as  the  great  religious  festivals  offered 
him.  An  aristocrat  through  and  through,  he  makes 
the  nobility  of  family  and  the  proud  traditions  of  race 
stand  out  in  high  relief.  Closely  connected  himself 
with  the  worship  of  Apollo  at  Delphi,  he  keeps  the 
religious  aspect  of  the  festivals  in  the  foreground,  not 
permitting  the  mere  athletic  side  to  overshadow  all 
else.  Keenly  alive  to  the  grander  and  more  imposing 
aspects  of  external  nature,  he  never  lets  us  forget  the 
splendid  scenes  through  which  his  subject  leads  him. 
And  finally,  with  his  superb  genius  as  a  poet  and  his 
marvelous  mastery  of  musical  and  choral  technique, 
he  produced  poems  which  are  perfect  as  works  of  art. 
The  Greeks  counted  him  their  greatest  lyric  poet. 

Of  his  epinician  odes,  or  odes  of  victory,  forty-four 
are  extant.  It  is  impossible  to  give  an  adequate  idea 
of  the  splendor  of  these  odes  through  the  medium  of 


140  Homer  to  Theocritus 

translations.  Our  language  has  neither  the  rhythm 
nor  the  diction  to  represent  Pindar.  Even  in  the 
orginal  they  are  difficult  reading,  owing  to  the 
obscurity  of  thought  arising  from  swift  transition  and 
allusions  to  which  we  no  longer  possess  the  key.  The 
Greek  hearer  had  the  advantage  of  us  in  these  matters, 
but  especially  in  the  accompanying  music  and  dance, 
both  indispensable  to  the  general  effect.  But  we  may 
at  any  rate  examine  the  structure  of  the  Pindaric  ode 
and  illustrate  some  of  its  poetical  qualities. 

Some  Greek  has  won  a  victory  in  the  games.  The 
poet  who  is  called  upon  to  celebrate  this  victory  must 
tell  who,  in  what  event,  and  at  what  festival,  and 
must  praise  the  victor  for  his  prowess  and  good  for- 
tune, and  congratulate  his  family  and  his  state.  It 
is  Pindar's  manner  to  weave  these  facts  into  his  ode 
in  such  a  way  as  not  to  put  us  into  possession  of  all 
the  facts  at  once,  nor  to  make  too  prominent  the  per- 
son of  the  victor.  He  magnifies  rather  the  festival, 
or  the  noble  lineage  of  the  victor,  or  a  mythological 
incident  suggested  by  his  career,  or  the  heroic  and 
mythical  legends  associated  with  the  festival,  the 
victor,  or  the  victor's  native  city.  This  subject,  which 
usually  occupies  the  larger  central  portion  of  the  ode, 
is  known  as  the  "myth"  of  the  poem,  and  is  attached 
to  the  introduction  by  means  of  a  swift  note  of  transi- 
tion which  is  likely  to  escape  the  unobserving  reader. 
At  the  end  of  the  ode  the  poet  returns  to  his  theme  by 
a  similar  transition,  often  concluding  by  a  note  of 
warning  or  advice  or  by  a  reference  to  the  undying 
fame  which  the  poet's  gifts  confer.  Interwoven  in 
the  poem  we  often  find  interesting  bits  of  moralizing 
on  the  problems  of  this  world  and  the  next. 


Choral  Lyric.      Pindar  141 

An  analysis  of  the  seventh  Olympian  ode  will  serve 
us  as  an  illustration  of  the  structure  of  a  Pindaric  ode. 
It  is  in  honor  of  Diagoras  of  Rhodes,  the  most  cele- 
brated athlete  of  his  time,  winner  in  the- boxing-match. 

Introduction.  —  As  when  a  man  takes  from  his  wealthy 
hand  a  goblet  foaming  with  the  dew  of  grape,  and  gives  it 
with  healths  and  pledges  to  his  youthful  son-in-law  to  bear 
from  one  home  to  the  other  home,  golden,  the  crown  of  his 
possessions,  gracing  the  feast  and  glorifying  his  kinsman, 
and  makes  him  in  the  eyes  of  the  assembled  friends  to  be 
envied  for  his  harmonious  wedlock;  so  I,  sending  outpoured 
nectar,  the  Muses'  gift,  to  conquering  heroes,  the  sweet  fruit 
of  the  soul,  greet  them  like  gods,  victors  at  Olympia  and 
Pytho. 

Theme.  —  Happy  is  he  whom  good  report  encompasseth; 
now  on  one  man,  now  on  another,  doth  the  Grace  that  giveth 
joy  to  life  look  with  favor,  and  tune  for  him  the  lyre  and 
the  stops  of  music  manifold.  Thus  with  the  sound  of  the 
twain  am  I  come  with  Diagoras  sailing  home,  to  sing  the 
sea-girt  Rhodes,  child  of  Aphrodite  and  bride  of  Melius,  that 
I  may  glorify,  as  a  tribute  to  his  boxing,  a  mighty  man  who 
hath  won  crowns  by  Alpheus'  Stream  and  at  Castalia,  and  his 
father  Demegetus,  in  whom  Justice  hath  her  delight. 

The  allusion  to  the  home  and  the  ancestry  of  t)id- 
goras  leads  up  to  the  myth,  which  here  falls  into  two 
parts.  The  first  part  tells  of  the  colonization  of 
Rhodes  by  Tlepolemus,  son  of  Heracles  and  ancestor 
of  Diagoras;  then  follows  the  explanation  of  the  origin 
of  the  worship  of  Helios  and  Athene  on  the  island. 
The  main  part  of  the  myth,  taken  as  a  whole,  is  the 
story  of  the  birth  of  Rhodes  from  the  sea: 

Myth. — Now  the  ancient  story  of  men  saith  that  when  Zeus 
and  the  other  gods  made  division  of  the  earth  among  them,  not 
yet  was  Rhodes  apparent  in  the  open  sea,  but  in  the  briny 
depths  lay  hid.     And  none  drew  the  lot  for  Helius,  who  was 


142  Homer  to  Theocritus 

absent;  so  they  left  him  portionless  of  land,  that  holy  god. 
And  when  he  spake  thereof  Zeus  would  cast  lots  afresh; 
but  he  suffered  him  not,  for  he  said  that  beneath  the  hoary 
sea  he  saw  a  certain  land  waxing  from  its  root  in  earth, 
that  should  bring  forth  food  for  many  men  and  rejoice  in 
flocks.  And  the  son  of  Cronus  promised  him  that  the  isle 
sent  up  to  the  light  of  heaven  should  thenceforth  be  his 
share.  And  his  speech  had  fulfilment.  There  sprang  up  from 
the  watery  main  an  island,  and  the  father  who  begetteth  the 
sun's  rays  hath  the  dominion  thereof,  even  the  lord  of  fire- 
breathing  steeds. 

Returning  to  his  theme,  the  poet  swiftly  recounts 
the  athletic  previous  victories  of  Diagoras,  and  con- 
cludes thus: 

Conclusion.— Do  thou,  O  Father  Zeus,  glorify  the  accus- 
tomed Olympian  winner's  hymn  and  the  man  who  hath  done 
valiantly  with  his  fists.  Give  him  honor  at  the  hands  of  citizens 
and  strangers;  for  he  walketh  in  the  straight  way  that  abhor- 
reth  insolence,  having  learnt  well  the  lessons  his  true  soul  hath 
taught  him,  which  hath  come  to  him  from  his  noble  sires.  .  . 
Surely  with  the  joys  of  his  family  the  whole  city  maketh  glad. 
But  in  a  moment  of  time  the  varying  breezes  shift  their  course. 

Pindar's  introductions  to  his  odes  are  especially 
brilliant.  "As  when  with  golden  columns  reared 
beneath  the  well-walled  palace  porch  we  build  a  splen- 
did hall,  so  will  I  build  my  song.  At  the  beginning 
of  a  work  we  must  make  the  portal  radiant  from  afar. " 
The  most  admired  is  the  prelude  to  the  first  Pythian 
ode,  in  honor  of  Hiero,  tyrant  of  Syracuse,  winner 
in  the  chariot-race: 

O  golden  lyre, 
Apollo's,  dark-haired  Muses'  joint  heirloom, 

Alert  for  whom 
The  dancer's  footstep  listens,  and  the  choir 
Of  singers  wait  the  sound, 
Beginning  of  the  round 


Choral  Lyric.      Pindar  143 

Of  festal  joy,  whene'er  thy  quivering  strings 
Strike  up  a  prelude  to  their  carolings. 

Thou  slakest  the  lanced  bolt  of  quenchless  fire; 
Yea,  drooped  each  wing  that  through  the  aether  sweeps, 
Upon  his  sceptre  Zeus's  eagle  sleeps. 

The  bird-king  crowned! 
The  while  thou  sheddest  o'er  his  beaked  head  bowed 

A  darkling  cloud, 
Sweet  seal  of  the  eyelids,  —  and  in  dreamful  swound 
His  rippling  back  and  sides 
Heave  with  thy  music's  tides; 
Thou  bidst  impetuous  Ares  lay  apart 
His  keen-edged  spear,  and  soothe  with  sleep  his  heart; 
Thou  launchest  at  the  breasts  of  gods,  and  bound 
As  by  a  spell,  they  own  thy  lulling  power, 
Latoides's  and  the  deep-zoned  Muses'  dower. 

Newcomer. 

Pindar's  view  of  the  future  life,  with  its  system  of 
just  rewards  and  punishments,  is  unusually  definite  for 
his  time.  In  the  second  Olympian  he  weaves  these 
thoughts  into  the  myth :  Among  the  dead,  sinful  souls 
at  once  pay  penalty,  and  the  crimes  done  in  this  realm 
of  Zeus  are  judged  beneath  the  earth  by  one  who  gives 
sentence  under  dire  necessity. 

Sir.   But  in  the  happy  fields  of  light. 
Where  Phoebus  with  an  equal  ray 
Illuminates  the  balmy  night, 

And  gilds  the  cloudless  day, 
In  peaceful,  unmolested  joy, 
The  good  their  smiling  hours  employ. 
Them  no  uneasy  wants  constrain 

To  vex  the  ungrateful  soi\. 
To  tempt  the  dangers  of  the  billowy  main, 
And  break  their  strength  with  unavailing  toil, 
A  frail  disastrous  being  to  maintain. 

But  in  their  joyous  calm  abodes, 


144                   Homer  to  Theocritus  j 

The  recompense  of  justice  they  receive;  \ 

And  in  the  fellowship  of  gods,  j 

Without  a  tear  eternal  ages  live.  < 

While  banished  by  the  fates  from  jby  and  rest,  \ 

Intolerable  woes  the  impious  soul  infest.  ■ 

Antistr.  But  they  who,  in  true  virtue  strong,  \ 

The  third  purgation  can  endure;  1 

And  keep  their  minds  from  fraudful  wrong  I 

And  guilt's  contagion,  pure;  J 

They  through  the  starry  paths  of  Jove  ; 

To  Saturn's  blissful  seat  remove:  ■ 

Where  fragrant  breezes,  vernal  airs,  ■ 

Sweet  children  of  the  main,  ' 

Purge  the  blest  island  from  corroding  cares,  ! 

And  fan  the  bosom  of  each  verdant  plain:  \ 

Whose  fertile  soil  immortal  fruitage  bears;  j 

Trees,  from  whose  flaming  branches  flow,  \ 

Arrayed  in  golden  bloom,  refulgent  beams;  ' 

And  flowers  of  golden  hue,  that  blow 

On  the  fresh  borders  of  their  parent  streams.  \ 

These  by  the  blest  in  solemn  triumph  worn,  \ 

Their  unpolluted  hands  and  clustering  locks  adorn.  ' 

Epode     Such  is  the  righteous  will,  the  high  behest  I 

Of  Rhadamanthus,  ruler  of  the  blest;  I 

The  just  assessor  of  the  throne  divine,  ] 

On  which,  high  raised  above  all  gods,  recline,  j 

Linked  in  the  golden  bands  of  wedded  love,  \ 

The  great  progenitors  of  thundering  Jove'.  ^ 

There  in  the  number  of  the  blest  enrolled  j 

Live  Cadmus,  Peleus,  heroes  famed  of  old;  ] 

And  young  Achilles,  to  these  isles  removed,  i 

Soon  as,  by  Thetis  won,  relenting  Jove  approved.  \ 

Gilbert  West.  \ 

Pindar  covered  the  whole  range  of  choral  poetry,  \ 
but  apart  from  the  odes  of  victory  only  a  few  frag-  '- 
ments   remain.     The   following   fragment  of  a  dirge    : 

gives  another  picture  of  Elysium:  \ 


Choral  Lyric.      Pindar  145 

Shines  for  them  the  sun's  warm  glow 
When  'tis  darkness  here  below: 
And  the  ground  before  their  towers, 
Meadow-land  with  purple  flowers, 
Teems  with  incense-bearing  trees, 
Teams  with  fruit  of  golden  sheen. 
Some  in  steed  and  wrestling  feat, 
Some  in  dice  take  pleasure  sweet. 
Some  in  harping:  at  their  side 
Blooms  the  spring  in  all  her  pride. 
Fragrance  all  about  is  blown 

O'er  that  country  of  desire, 
Even  as  rich  gifts  are  thrown 

Freely  on  the  far-seen  fire, 
Blazing  from  the  altar-stone. 

But  the  souls  of  the  profane. 

Far  from  heaven  removed  below, 
Flit  on  earth  in  murderous  pain 

'Neath  the  unyielding  yoke  of  woe; 
While  pious  spirits  tenanting  the  sky, 
Chant  praises  to  the  mighty  one  on  high. 

Conington. 


CHAPTER    VII 

TRAGIC    POETRY.       ^SCHYLUS 

Athens  the  Literary  Centre  of  Greece  — The  Beginnings  of 
Tragedy  —  Arion  and  the  Dithyramb  —  Thespis  —  The 
Satyr-Drama  —  The  Dramatic  Festivals  at  Athens  —  The 
Dramatic  Contest — The  Theatre  —  The  Position  of  the 
Actors  and  the  Chorus  —  The  Number  of  Contestants  and 
Performers  —  The  Three  Unities  —  The  Subjects  of  Targ- 
edy  —  ^schylus  —  The  Structure  of  a  Greek  Tragedy  illus- 
trated by  the  Agamemnon  of  ^schylus  —  The  Libation- 
Bearers —  The  Furies — ^The  Suppliants -^The,  Persians 
—  The  Seven  against  Thebes  —  The  Prometheus  Bound. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  century  an  observer 
of  literary  movements  in  Greece  might  have  been  seri- 
ously in  doubt  as  to  whether  Syracuse  or  Athens  was 
destined  to  become  the  literary  centre  of  the  Hellenic 
world;  The  brilliant  court  maintained  in  Athens  by 
Peisistratus  and  his  sons  down  to  the  overthrow  of  the 
tyranny  in  510,  a  court  distinguished  by  the  presence 
of  Simonides,  Anacreon,  and  other  poets,  was  sur- 
passed in  the  next  generation  by  that  of  Hiero  in 
Syracuse,  who  drew  to  his  city  such  lyric  poets  as 
Simonides,  Pindar,  and  Bacchylides,  Epicharmus,  the 
founder  of  comedy,  and  even  ^schylus,  the  father  of 
tragedy.  Before  the  establishment  of  the  democracy 
Athens  had  produced  but  one  poet  of  distinction — 
Solon,  the  legislator.  But  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
sixth  century  a  new  type  of  poetry  was  rapidly  being 
developed,  the  drama,  which  was  to  become  the 
greatest  literary  creation  of  the   Greek  people  after 

146 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  147 

the  epic  of  Homer.  As  the  lonians  of  Asia  Minor 
had  brought  the  epic  to  perfection,  the  ^Eolians  of 
Lesbos  the  song  lyric,  and  the  Dorians  the  choral 
lyric,  so  now  it  fell  to  the  Athenians,  who,  though 
lonians  by  race  and  in  temperament,  yet  shared  some 
of  the  best  qualities  of  the  Dorians,  to  contribute  the 
drama.  Thanks  to  this  supreme  creation  and  to  her 
political  supremacy  resulting  from  the  wars  with  Per- 
sia, Athens  soon  overshadowed  Syracuse  and  from  the 
middle  of  the  fifth  century  to  the  middle  of  the  third 
was  the  acknowledged  literary  and  intellectual  centre 
of  Hellas. 

The  order  in  which  the  three  great  branches  of 
poetry,  epic,  lyric,  and  dramatic,  were  developed  in 
Greece  is  the  best  illustration  of  the  significant  fact  to 
which  we  have  already  alluded — the  natural  and  normal 
growth  of  Greek  literature.  In  each  age  we  find  the 
type  of  poetical  expression  which  most  perfectly 
reflects  the  order  of  beliefs  and  sentiments  of  the  peo- 
ple, a  type  which,  both  in  form  and  in  content,  is 
a  natural  outgrowth  of  the  type  which  preceded  it.  n 
Epic  poetry  was  developed  from  the  minstrel's  songs,  ' 
which  arose  in  response  to  the  conditions  of  the  patri-  ] 
archal  society  of  the  Homeric  age.  The  choral  lyric 
sprang  from  the  religious  observances  of  the  Dorian  \ 
society  under  the  new  conditions  of  a  later  period, 
but  retained  the  mythological  and  heroic  elements  of 
the  epic  moulded  to  a  new  form.  The  Greek  drama 
presupposes  both  the  epic  and  the  choral  lyric,  the  sub- 
ject-matter and  inspiration  of  the  former,  the  religious 
and  structural  elements  of  the  latter,  adopting  at  the 
same  time  for  the  dialogue  the  iambic  form  which  had 
already  been  perfected  by  Archilochus. 


148  Homer  to  Theocritus 

We  have  seen  that  the  festivals  in  honor  of  the  gods 
were  the  occasion  for  the  performance  of  choral  com- 
positions. In  the  course  of  time  a  certain  kind  of 
choral  came  to  be  regarded  as  peculiarly  appropriate  to 
the  worship  of  a  particular  god.  Thus  the  dithyramb 
came  to  be  employed  exclusively  in  the  worship  of 
Dionysus,  the  god  of  wine.  We  have  seen,  also,  that 
Arion,  at  Corinth,  first  gave  the  dithyramb  its  distinc- 
tive character.  Now  among  the  Dorian  folk  it  was 
believed  that  Dionysus,  in  his  roaming  over  the  hills 
from  one  seat  of  worship  to  another,  was  accompanied 
by  sportive,  mischief-loving  beings,  half  animal,  half 
human,  whom  they  called  "satyrs."  These  beings 
were  popularly  represented  as  having  the  legs,  ears, 
snub-nose,  and  shaggy  hair  of  a  goat,  attached  to  the 
human  form — precisely  like  Pan,  who  was  himself 
a  satyr.  It  was  a  natural,  but  none  the  -less  a  far- 
reaching  idea  of  Arion's,  to  dress  up  his  dithyrambic 
chorus  of  fifty  men  or  boys  in  the  likeness  of  satyrs, 
and  to  have  them  sing,  in  character^  of  the  adventures 
and  sufferings  of  their  lord  and  leader,  Dionysus.  In 
this  way  the  decisive  step  was  taken  toward  the  devel- 
opment of  a  story  to  be  acted — impersonation.  The 
song  of  such  a  Dionysiac  chorus  at  some  time  received 
the  name  of  "tragedy,"  or  "goat-song"  {tragos, 
"goat,"  and  ode^  "song"),  which  was  retained  for  the 
species  of  poetry  which  grew  out  of  the  dithyramb 
even  after  the  original  significance  of  the  word  was 
lost  sight  of. 

The  next  step  in  the  development  of  tragedy  was 
taken  in  Attica  toward  the  middle  of  the  sixth  century. 
The  worship  of  Dionysus  had  taken  a  strong  hold  upon 
the  people  of  the  country  district,  Icaria,  on  the  slope 


Tragic  Poetry,     i^schylus               149  \ 

of   Mount   Pentelicus.'     A   festival   in   his  honor  had  j 

become  established  there,  in  which  "tragic"  choruses  ! 

in  the  Peloponnesian  manner  played  a  part.      A  native  ; 

poet,   Thespis,    introduced  the  important    innovation  ! 

of  stepping  out  of  the  chorus  of  satyrs  at  some  point  j 

in  the  performance  and   reciting  verses  addressed  to  j 

the  other  satyrs.      In  addition  to  the  element  of  imper-  \ 

sonation  we   now  have  the  element  of  acting,  though  j 

in  a  very  rudimentary  form.      But  the  new  '^tragic"  i 

dithyramb  at  once  found  favor.      The  first  perform-  ] 

ance   in   Athens   took   place   in   534  B.  C,  under  the  ' 

patronage  of  the  tyrant  Peisistratus.      From  this  time  j 

on    the    development    of    tragedy   was    rapid.      Soon  ! 

a  second    actor   was    introduced,    tradition    says   by  j 

^schylus.      Instead  of  a  simple  dramatic   narrative,  ! 

interrupting   the   songs   of   the   chorus,  we   now   have  ' 

a   true   dramatic   action   in   the   dialogue    of    the   two  ,    • 

actors,  interrupted  by  the  choral  songs.      The  chorus  j 

is  thus  reduced  to  a  subordinate  place,   though   it  is  j 

still    relatively    prominent.      This    subordination    be-  j 

comes  much   more  marked  after  the   introduction  of  ; 

the  third  actor  by  Sophocles,  about  468  B.  C.  | 

The  early  tragic  performance  was  probably  rather  ; 
short,  and  the  subject-matter  restricted,  by  the  very 
satyric  nature  of  the  chorus,  to  themes  connected  with*^ 

the  legends  of  Dionysus.      Only  a  change  in  the  cos-  j 

tume   of   the   choruses  was   needed  to  make  possible  i 

a  larger  range  of  subjects.      But  when   this  was  done  '■_ 

the  performance  was  no  longer  strictly  appropriate  to  ^ 

the      worship      of     Dionysus.     A     compromise     was  i 

adopted.     Whatever  the  mythological  subject  of  the  i 

'] 

'This  site  was  excavated  by. the  American  School  of  Classical  Studies  ] 

in  Athens  in   1888.    The  excavations  disclosed  many  traces  oi  the  wor-  1 
ship  of  Dionysus. 


\ 


150  Homer  to  Theocritus 

earlier  scenes,  the  last  scene  was  reserved  for  the  old 
satyr-chorus  of  Dionysus.  From  this  fact  arose  the 
strange  phenomenon  which  we  see  throughout  the 
fifth  century — a  satyr-drama,  full  of  burlesque  and 
ribaldry,  following  upon  the  three  tragedies  presented 
by  each  poet.  The  connection  seems  to  us  incongru- 
ous, but  by  this  device  the  poet  was  enabled  to  work 
out  a  serious  theme  quite  without  reference  to  the  bois- 
terous rites  of  the  wine-god.  Later  on  the  poet  some- 
times substituted  another  play  for  the  satyr-drama, 
and  still  later  only  one  instead  of  three  such  pieces 
was  given  at  each  festival.  But  for  centuries  the 
satyr-chorus  was  retained  in  some  manner  as  a  relic 
of  the  early  Dionysus  worship  out  of  which  tragedy- 
had  grown. 

There  were  only  two  yearly  festivals  of  Dionysus  at 
Athens  at  which  dramatic  performances  were  given — 
the  Lenaean'  festival  in  January,  and  the  City  Dionysia 
in  March.  The  Athenian  citizen  who  remained  in  the 
city  had  therefore  only  two  opportunities  a  year  of 
witnessing  exhibitions  of  tragedy  and  comedy.  But 
most  of  the  villages  in  Attica  had  their  local  festivals 
in  December,  called  the  Rural  Dionysia,  which  it  was 
easy  for  the  Athenian  to  attend.  The  December 
exhibition  at  Peirseus,  the  port  of  Athens,  was  only 
less  important  than  those  of  the  city  itself.  Of  the 
two  city  festivals  the  Dionysia  in  March  was  by  far 
the  more  brilliant  occasion.  The  greatest  poets  con- 
tended for  the  honor  of  presenting  their  tragedies  and 
comedies  there,  and  Athens  was  thronged  with  visitors 
from  abroad  who  came  to  participate  in  the  festival. 

*So  called  from  the  Lenaeon,  "Place  of  the  Wine-press,"  where  the 
festival  was  celebrated  in  early  times. 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  151 

The  cost  of  the  dramatic  exhibitions  was  a  charge 
upon  the  state,  inasmuch  as  the  drama  constituted 
a  part  of  the  worship  of  the  gods,  the  supervision  and 
regulation  of  which  was  a  function  of  the  state.  But 
under  the  democracy  the  state  delegated  a  portion  of 
its  duty  to  wealthy  individuals.  Each  year  the 
magistrates  selected  from  the  lists  of  wealthy  citizens 
persons  who,  from  the  work  to  which  they  were 
assigned,  were  called  choregi,  or  "chorus-leaders." 
Upon  them  fell  the  expense  of  equipping  and  training 
the  tragic  and  comic  choruses,  one  choregus  being 
designated  for  each  poet.  The  exhibitions  themselves 
took  the  form  of  contests,  each  poet  and  choregus 
competing  with  the  others  for  prizes  offered  by  the 
state  for  the  best  "tragic  and  comic  choruses" — that 
is,  for  the  best  tragedy  and  the  best  comedy.  Con- 
tests between  the  leading  actors,  or  "protagonists," 
of  each  play  were  organized  at  a  later  time.  The 
prizes  were  awarded  by  judges  chosen  by  the  magis- 
trates, every  precaution  being  taken  to  secure  a  just 
and  impartial  verdict.  The  result  of  this  system  was 
an  intense  rivalry  between  the  poets,  the  choruses,  the 
choregi,  and  the  actors,  and  no  expense  or  effort  was 
spared  in  the  competition  for  the  coveted  honor.  The 
keen  participation  of  the  spectators  was  also  secured, 
not  only  by  their  interest  in  the  subjects  which  were 
enacted  before  them,  appealing  to  all  their  religious, 
intellectual,  musical,  and  resthetic  sentiments,  but  also 
by  the  fact  of  their  personal  connection  with  the  mem- 
bers of  the  choruses,  representing  perhaps  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  families  in  the  case  of  tragedy  alone. 
All  citizens  of  Athens  were  admitted  to  the  dramatic 
exhibitions  without  charge  from  the  time  of  Pericles  on. 


152  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  first  permanent  theatre  in  Athens  was  erected 
about  the  middle  of  the  fourth  century,  long  after  the 
most  brilliant  period  of  the  Attic  drama  had  passed. 
But  the  stone  theatre  of  the  fourth  century  probably 
only  reproduced  in  durable  material  the  temporary 
arrangements  of  the  structure  in  which  the  dramas  of 
the  great  masters  were  performed.  The  Greek  drama 
was  always  performed  in  the  open  air,  the  spectators 
sitting  upon  the  slope  of  the  hill,  which  was  artificially 
built  up  at  the  wings  so  that  the  view  of  every  spec- 
tator was  directed  toward  the  large  circular  level 
space  at  the  bottom  called  the  orchestra,  or  "dancing 
place."  In  the  centre  of  the  orchestra  was  the  large 
altar  of  Dionysus,  situated  not  far  from  the  temple  of 
the  god,  in  whose  sacred  precinct  the  theatre  was 
located.  In  the  earliest  times  there  was  no  scenic  back- 
ground, for  no  scenery  was  needed.  The  choruses  and 
the  single  actor  at  first  had  no  need  of  dressing-rooms 
either.  But  this  need  must  have  been  felt  as  soon  as 
a  series  of  scenes,  involving  different  characters  was 
depicted,  for  each  actor  was  assigned  to  a  number  of 
roles.  The  dressing-room  may  at  first  have  been 
placed  at  one  side  of  the  orchestra.  When  a  scenic 
background  was  introduced  and  painted  scenery  came 
to  be  employed  (probably  about  470  B.  C),  the  most 
convenient  place  was  selected  for  the  dressing-rooms 
— the  space  behind  the  scenery. 

These,  then,  were  the  three  main  elements  of  the 
theatre  of  the  time  of  Sophocles:  —  the  scenic  back- 
ground, which  was  the  front  of  the  dressing-room 
building;  the  orchestra,  which  represented  the  space 
in  front  of  the  building  shown  in  the  scenery;  and 
the    auditorium,    which    rose    from    the    level   of   the 


Tragic  Poetry.     iEschylus  153 

orchestra,  the  two  wings  extending  a  little  beyond  the 
semicircle  opposite  the  background.  This  simple 
scheme  was  always  retained  in  Greek  theatres,  although 
both  auditorium  and  scene-buildings  were  developed, 
the  one  for  the  comfort  of  the  spectators,'  the  other 
to  enhance  the  realism  of  the  spectacle. 

In  the  early  period,  when  the  slope  of  the  Acropolis 
was  first  used  by  the  spectators,  the  evolutions  of  the 
chorus  and  the  recitations  of  the  single  actor,  who 
came  out  of  the  chorus,  took  place  in  the  orchestra. 
Since  the  spectators  occupied  an  elevation,  no  eleva- 
tion for  the  performers  was  needed  to  improve  the 
view,  although  Ihe  actor  could  mount  the  steps  of  the 
great  altar  when  special  prominence  was  desired. 
What  was  true  of  this  early  period  was  equally  true 
after  the  second  and  third  actor  had  been  added. 
The  erection  of  the  building  for  the  scenic  background 
and  dressing-rooms  did  not  alter  the  place  of  action. 
But  the  actors  naturally  came  to  occupy  mainly  the 
part  of  the  orchestra  nearer  the  scenery,  which  gener- 
ally represented  the  home  of  the  principal  characters, 
while  the  chorus  retained  its  position  near  the  altar  in 
the  centre  of  the  orchestra.  In  an  orchestra  whose 
diameter  was  sixty  feet,  as  at  Athens,  there  was  ample 
room  for  the  fifteen  members  of  the  chorus  and  the 
three  actors  without  overcrowding,  nor  was  there 
danger  that  the  actors  would  be  hidden  from  view  by 
the  chorus.  Besides,  the  actors  were  distinguished 
by  their  costume^  from   the  members  of  the  chorus. 

'The  theatre  at  Athens,  when  completed,  seated  about  seventeen  thou- 
sand persons  comfortably, 

''The  more  important  personages  in  the  tragedy,  such  as  kings  and 
queens,  were  represented  as  of  unusual  stature.  On  the  feet  they  wore 
the  cothurnus,  which  added  something  to  the  height,  and  the  wig  was 
so  arranged  as  to  increase  the  effect  still  more.  The  body  was  also 
padded  considerably.  We  may  mention  here  the  fact  that  all  women's 
roles  were  taken  by  men.    We  never  hear  of  a  Greek  actress. 


154  Homer  to  Theocritus 

A  considerable  elevation  for  the  actors  alone,  separat- 
ing them  from  the  chorus,  was  impossible  in  the 
Greek  drama,  for  the  chorus  is  in  constant  contact 
with  the  actors,  and  may  always  enter  the  building  in 
the  background  directly  from  the  orchestra.  The 
long,  narrow  building  called  the  proscenium,  extend- 
ing along  the  front  of  the  scene-buildings  thirteen 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  orchestra,  was  formerly 
believed  to  be  an  elevated  stage  for  actors,  but  it  is 
now  known  to  have  been  the  main  part  of  the  decora- 
tion, the  roof  of  which  was  used  only  in  exceptional 
cases.  The  actors  and  choruses  moved  upon  the 
same  level,  as  in  the  case  of  the  modern  opera.  ^ 

During  the  fifth  century,  in  which  the  works  of  the 
greatest  dramatic  poets  fall,  three  tragic  and  three 
comic  poets  competed  at  the  City  Dionysia,  each 
comic  poet  presenting  one  play,  and  the  tragic  poets 
four  each,  three  tragedies  and  a  stage-drama.  In  the 
lifetime  of  ^schylus  the  three  tragedies  often  dealt 
with  successive  stages  of  the  same  subject,  and  even 
the  stage-drama  was  sometimes  upon  the  same  theme. 
The  term  "trilogy"  refers  to  the  group  of  three  trage- 
dies, "tetralogy'*  to  the  group  of  four  plays.  But 
after  ^schylus  the  members  of  a  trilogy  were  not  con- 
nected in  subject.  The  plays  produced  at  the  City 
Dionysia  were  always  new,  but  in  the  fourth  century 

^I  have  spoken  as  if  the  question  of  an  elevated  stage  in  Greek  theatres 
were  settled.  It  is  fair  to  say  that  some  scholars  still  adhere  to  the  old 
view  to  which  I  have  alluded  above,  although  many  have  accepted  as 
a  compromise  the  theory  that  in  the  fifth  century  the  actors  occupied 
a  low  stage  accessible  to  the  chorus.  But  the  evidence  of  the  ruins  and 
of  the  extant  dramas  is  distinctly  in  favor  of  the  view  which  I  have  pre- 
sented, which  has  rapidly  gained  adherents  during  the  past  fifteen  years. 
The  Roman  writer  Vitruvius,  who  is  quoted  as  an  authority  for  a  high 
stage  in  the  Greek  theatre,  had  in  mind  a  type  of  theatre  peculiar  to 
Asia  Minor,  and  not  that  found  in  Athens.  In  tnis  Graeco-Roman  theatre 
actors  and  chorus  performed  upon  a  stage  about  five  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  lowest  seats,  as  in  the  modern  theatre. 


Tragic  Poetry.     ^Eschylus  155 

an  old  tragedy  was  sometimes  revived.  It  is  surmised 
that  in  the  fifth  century  popular  old  plays  were 
revived  at  the  Lenaean  festival.  In  any  event  they  were 
undoubtedly  to  be  seen  at  the  Rural  Dionysia.  The 
tragic  chorus,  which  at  the  time  of  Thespis  probably 
contained  fifty  members,  numbered  only  twelve  in 
^schylus's  time  but  later  was  increased  to  fifteen. 
The  comic  chorus  contained  twenty-four  members. 
By  a  convention  which  seems  strange  to  us,  only  three 
actors  ever  appeared  upon  the  scene  at  the  same  time, 
not  counting  "mutes"  and  attendants.  There  was 
consequently  much  less  action  in  a  Greek  drama  than 
we  are  accustomed  to  see  in  a  modern  play,  though 
the  participation  of  the  chorus  often  lends  greater 
animation. 

Another  important  difference  between  the  ancient 
and  modern  drama  must  be  mentioned.  There  is 
almost  never  a  change  of  scene  in  tragedy  during  the 
progress  of  the  action,  and  in  comedy  rarely.  This 
is  due  to  the  constant  presence  of  the  chorus,  which 
thus  fixes  the  scene  of  the  action.  This  peculiar  rule 
is  called  the  "unity  of  place."  The  rule  of  "unity  of 
time"  is  adhered  to  much  more  strictly  than  in  the 
modern  drama,  partly  for  the  same  reason.  The 
other  unity,  the  "unity  of  action,"  is  of  universal 
application,  resting  upon  the  fundamental  principle  of 
dramatic  art  that  every  portion  of  a  play  must  conduce 
to  the  development  of  the  main  theme. 

We  have  already  stated  that  Greek  tragedy  presup- 
poses the  epic.  In  fact  by  far  the  greater  number  of 
subjects  treated  by  the  tragic  poets  was  taken  from 
the  poems  of  the  Epic  Cycle,  and  almost  all  the  rest 
from   the   legendary   history   of   the   heroic  age.     We 


UNiVEiHSIT^ 


156  Homer  to  Theocritus 

know  of  few  exceptions  to  the  rule.  Phrynichus,  an 
older  contemporary  of  ^schylus,  once  represented  the 
Capture  of  Miletus^  referring  to  the  taking  of  this  city 
by  the  Persians.  The  Athenians  were  so  affected  by 
the  play  that  they  put  a  heavy  fine  upon  the  poet 
"for  reminding  them  of  their  own  misfortunes."  No 
such  result  followed  the  performance  of  his  Phoenician 
Woman,  in  which  he  celebrated  the  deeds  of  Athens 
in  the  Persian  wars,  nor  when  ^Eschylus  produced  the 
Persians,  which  glorifies  the  victory  of  Salamis.  No 
other  tragedies  of  this  period  are  known  that  depart 
from  the  subjects  of  the  heroic  age.  ^schylus  spoke 
the  truth  when  he  said  that  his  tragedies  were  but 
crumbs  from  the  table  of  Homer. 

The  first  great  poet  of  tragedy  was  ^schylus,  who 
was  born  at  Eleusis  in  525  B.  C.  and  died  in  Sicily  in 
456.  During  the  Persian  wars  he  fought  with  con- 
spicuous courage  at  Marathon  and  Salamis.  His  first 
prize  at  the  City  Dionysia  was  won  in  484,  and  alto- 
gether he  is  said  to  have  won  twenty-eight  victories — 
a  larger  number  than  is  recorded  for  any  other  poet. 
Of  the  seventy  tragedies  which  he  wrote  only  seven 
are  extant.  By  his  introduction  of  the  second  actor 
^schylus  is  entitled  to  be  called  the  creator  of  Attic 
tragedy.  In  his  treatment  nf  tVip  rfiorng  his  choice  of 
themes,  his  development  of  the  pint  and  in  his  whole 
conception  of  the  dignity  of  tragedy  and  of  its  mission 
as  instructor  of  the  people  in  morals  and  religion, 
^schylus  laid  down  the  lines  which  succeeding  poets 
were  to  follow,  with  few  important  changes,  so  long 
as  tragedy  was  cultivated  in  Greece. 

We  may  best  illustrate  the  structure  of  a  Greek 
tragedy  by  an  analysis  of  the  Agamemnon  of  ^schylus, 


Tragic  Poetry.      iEschylus  157 

the  first  play  in  the  trilogy  on  the  subject  of  the  House 
of  Atreus,  which  was  awarded  the  prize  at  the  City 
Dionysia  in  458  B.  C.  The  mythical  story  which 
forms  the  groundwork  of  the  trilogy  is  briefly  as  fol- 
lows: Atreus,  son  of  Pelops,  succeeded  to  the  throne 
of  Eurystheus,  king  of  Argos.  Thyestes,  his  brother, 
who  had  been  banished  from  Argos  for  wronging  his 
sister-in-law,  returned  as  a  suppliant.  Atreus,  fearing 
to  kill  him,  set  before  him  at  a  banquet  the  flesh  of 
Thyestes's  own  children.  When  Thyestes  knew  what 
he  had  done,  he  cursed  the  house  of  Atreus,  and  the 
curse  followed  it  for  three  generations.  Agamemnon 
and  Menelaus,  sons  of  Atreus,  married  the  sisters 
Clytemnestra  and  Helen.  The  story  of  the  rape  of 
Helen  and  the  Trojan  war  follows.  Agamemnon,  it 
will  be  remembered,  sacrificed  at  Aulis  his  own 
daughter,  Iphigeneia.  Clytemnestra,  wroth  at  her 
daughter's  death,  plotted  with  her  paramour,  ^gis- 
thus,  youngest  son  of  Thyestes,  to  murder  Agamemnon 
on  his  return  from  Troy.  Orestes,  her  son,  was  sent 
away  to  Phocis,  and  Electra,  her  other  daughter  by 
Agamemnon,  was  treated  as  a  servant. 

The  Agamemnon  takes  up  the  story  at  the  point 
when  the  hero's  return  from  Troy  is  anxiously  waited 
at  Argos.  The  scene  is  laid  at  Mycenae  in  front  of 
the  palace  of  Agamemnon.  When  the  tragedy  begins* 
we  see  on  the  roof  of  the  palace  a  watchman,  commis- 
sioned by  Clytemnestra  to  watch  for  the  beacon-light 
that  should  announce  the  fall  of  Troy.  The  prologue 
is  spoken  by  him.^ 

'A  curtain  was  not  employed  in  the  Greek  theatre.  The  actors  took 
their  places  in  view  of  the  spectators.  For  the  same  reason  the  favorite 
conclusion  ot  a  play  is  a  procession  instead  of  a  tableau. 

'Morshead's  translation  is  used  for  all  selections  from  the  Agamemnon^ 
Libation-Bearers ,  -vnd  Eumenides. 


158  Homer  to  Theocritus 

I  pray  the  gods  to  quit  me  of  my  toil, 

To  close  the  watch  I  keep,  this  livelong  year; 

For  as  a  watch-dog  lying,  not  at  rest, 

Propped  on  one  arm  upon  the  palace-roof 

Of  Atreus'  race,  too  long,  too  well  I  know 

The  starry  conclave  of  the  midnight  sky; 

Too  well,  the  splendours  of  the  firmament, 

The  Lords  of  Light,  whose  kingly  aspect  signs — 

What  time  they  set  or  climb  the  sky  in  turn — 

The  year's  divisions,  bringing  frost  or  fire! 

And  now,  as  ever,  am  I  set,  to  mark 

When  shall  stream  up  the  glow  of  signal  flame, 

The  bale-fire  bright,  and  tell  its  Trojan  tale — 

Troy  town  is  td'en  :  such  issue  holds  in  hope 

She,  in  whose  woman's  breast  beats  heart  of  man! 

He  at  length  sees  the  beacon  flash  out  and  shouts 
the  good  news  to  the  people  in  the  palace,  but  not 
without  a  dark  word  of  foreboding  for  the  future. 
Twelve  old  men  of  Mycenae,  who  form  the  chorus, 
now  file  through  the  side  passage  into  the  orchestra, 
chanting^  as  they  march  of  the  expedition  of  the  sons 
of  Atreus  against  Troy,  beginning: 

Ten  livelong  years  have  rolled  away, 
Since  the  twin  lords  of  sceptred  sway, 
By  Zeus  endowed  with  pride  of  place, 
The  doughty  chiefs  of  Atreus'  race, 

Went  forth  of  yore, 
To  plead  with  Priam,  face  to  face. 

Before  the  judgment-seat  of  War! 

While  the  elders  are  still  singing  Clytemnestra 
comes  from  the  palace  to  make  a  thank-offering  to  the 

*The  entrance  song  of  the  chorus  is  called  the  parodus^  and  gives  the 
motive  for  the  presence  of  the  chorus  —  here  their  anxiety  about  Aga- 
memnon and  the  army.  All  that  precedes  the  i>arodus  is  called  the 
prologue.  In  it  the  situation  is  unfolcled,  and  the  audience  made  acquainted 
with  the  subject  to  be  presented.  It  the  play  opens  with  a  choral  march, 
the  parodus  and  prologue  are  identical.  The  song  of  the  chorus  from  its 
usual  station  in  the  orchestra  is  called  the  stasimon,  and  the  acts  which  fall 
between  two  stasima,  episodes.    The  final  act  is  known  as  the  exodus. 


Tragic  Poetry.     iEschylus  159 

gods.  The  altars  along  the  front  of  the  palace  are 
soon  ablaze.  The  elders  question  her  anxiously,  but 
she  pays  no  heed.  They  then  continue  their  song, 
telling  of  the  strange  omen  that  appeared  to  the 
chieftains  at  Aulis  and  the  interpretation  of  Calchas 
the  seer,  who  prophesied  the  sacking  of  Troy  but  gave 
warning  of  the  sacrifice  which  Artemis  would  require. 

At  home  there  tarries  like  a  lurking  snake, 
Biding  its  time,  a  wrath  unreconciled, 

A  wily  watcher,,  passionate  to  slake 

In  blood,  resentment  for  a  murdered  child.^ 

The  chorus  interrupt  their  story  for  a  moment  by 
an  appeal  to  Zeus: 

Zeus — if  to  the  Unknown 

That  name  of  many  names  seems  good — 
Zeus,  upon  thee,  in  utter  need,  I  call. 

Thro*  the  mind's  every  road 
I  passed,  but  vain  are  all 
Save  that  which  names  thee  Zeus,  the  Highest  Onel 

'Tis  Zeus  alone  who  shows  the  perfect  way 

Of  knowledge:  He  hath  ruled, 
Men  shall  learn  wisdom,  by  affliction  schooled. 

In  visions  of  the  night,  like  dropping  rain, 
Descend  the  many  memories  of  pain 
Before  the  spirit's  sight:  through  tears  and  dole, 
Comes  wisdom  o'er  the  unwilling  soul. 

The  subject  is  resumed  again.  After  a  long  delay 
at  Aulis,  through  adverse  winds  sent  by  Artemis, 
Calchas  explicitly  declared  that  Iphigeneia  must  be 
sacrificed.  Agamemnon  yielded  at  last  to  the  demands 
of  his  allies,  against  the  dictates  of  his  own  con- 
science   and    his    love    and    in    spite    of    the    tender 

'Referring  to  the  curse  of  Thyestes  for  the  murder  of  his  children. 


i6o  Homer  to  Theocritus 

entreaties  of  his  daughter.  The  terrible  sacrifice  is 
made  and  Agamemnon  has  committed  a  great  wrong. 
''But  may  all  yet  be  well."  With  this  prayer  the 
parodus  is   concluded. 

The  chorus  now  takes  its  stand  by  the  altar,  and  its 
leader  advances  toward  the  palace  to  inquire  of  Clytem- 
nestra  the  meaning  of  her  sacrifices.  Is  it  for  good' 
news  thai  has  come?  "Good  beyond  hope,"  is  Clytem- 
nestra's  answer.  She  then  describes  in  a  magnificent 
passage  the  progress  of  the  beacon-fires  from  Mount 
Ida  to  Lemnos,  from  Lemnos  to  Athos,  and  so  from 
peak  to  peak  to  Argos.  The  victory  is  gained,  but 
let  the  victors  fail  not  to  reverence  the  gods  of  Troy 
if  they  would  come  safely  home.  Clytemnestra  then 
reenters  the  palace,  and  the  first  episode  comes  to 
a  close. 

In  the  choral  ode,  or  stasimo?i,  which  follows,  the 
chorus  first  thank  the  gods  for  the  victory  whereby 
the  crime  of  Paris  is  avenged.  Riches  and  power  avail 
not  to  ward  off  the  consequences  of  sin. 

And  such  did  Paris  come 

Unto  Atreides'  home, 
And  thence,  with  sin  and  shame  his  welcome  to  repay, 

Ravished  the  wife  away — 
And  she,  unto  her  country  and  her  kin 
Leaving  the  clash  of  shields  and  spears  and  arming  ships, 
And  bearing  unto  Troy  destruction  for  a  dower, 

And  overbold  in  sin, 
Went  fleetly  through  the  gates,  at  midnight  hour. 

Alas  for  the  home  which  Helen  left  desolate!  Her 
form  seems  yet  to  bear  sway  in  the  house  and  hovers 
near  Menelaus  in  his  dreams,  a  vain  delight!  But  the 
sorrows   of  the   Achaeans  are  even  greater  than  his. 


\ 


Tragic  Poetry.     ^Eschylus  i6i 

Each  house  has  its  dead  to  mourn,  and  the  people 
murmur  against  their  rulers.  The  god  will  surely 
punish  those  who  shed  men's  blood. 

O'er  him  who  vaunteth  an  exceeding  fame, 

Impends  a  woe  condign; 
The  vengeful  bolt  upon  his  eyes  doth  flame, 

Sped  from  the  hand  divine. 
This  bliss  be  mine,  ungrudged  of  God,  to  feel: 
To  tread  no  city  to  the  dust. 

Nor  see  my  own  life  thrust 
Down  to  a  slave's  estate  beneath  another's  heel! 

Can  the  good  tidings  be  true?  We  soon  shall  know, 
for  a  dust-covered  messenger  approaches.  With  the 
entrance  of  the  messenger  the  elders  resume  their 
place  by  the  altar,  and  the  second  episode  begins. 

The  messenger  greets  the  land  of  Argos,  its  gods 
and  the  king's  palace,  and  bids  prepare  a  loyal  wel- 
come for  Agamemnon.  The  sufferings  and  losses  of 
the  Greek  host  were  many  and  hard  to  bear,  but  the 
issue  repays  it  all. 

Farewell,  a  long  farewell  to  all  our  woes! 

To  us,  the  remnant  of  the  host  of  Greece, 

Comes  weal  beyond  all  counterpoise  of  woe; 

Thus  boast  we  rightfully  to  yonder  sun, 

Like  him,  far-fleeted  over  sea  and  land: 

'The  Argive  host  prevailed  to  conquer  Troy, 

And  in  the  temples  of  the  gods  of  Greece 

Hung  up  these  spoils,  a  shining  sign  to  Time.' 

Let  those  who  read  this  legend  bless  aright 

The  city  and  its  chieftains,  and  repay 

The  meed  of  gratitude  to  Zeus  who  willed 

And  wrought  the  deed.     So  stands  the  tale  fulfilled. 

Clytemnestra  comes  from  the  palace  and  tells  of 
her  joy  at  the  knowledge  of  her  husband's  victorious 
home-coming. 


1 62  Homer  to  Theocritus 

What  day  beams  fairer  on  a  woman's  eyes 

Than  this,  whereon  she  flings  the  portal  wide 

To  hail  her  lord,  heaven-shielded,  home  from  war? 

This  to  my  husband,  that  he  tarry  not, 

But  turn  the  city's  longing  into  joy! 

Yea,  let  him  come,  and,  coming,  may  he  find 

A  wife  no  other  than  he  left  her,  true 

And  faithful  as  a  watch-dog  to  his  home — 

His  foeman's  foe;  in  all  her  duties  leal. 

Trusty  to  keep  for  ten  long  years  unmarred 

The  store  whereon  he  set  his  master-seal. 

She  reenters  the  palace.  The  messenger  tells  the 
chorus  of  the  storms  that  scattered  the  Greek  fleet 
on  its  homeward  voyage.  After  his  departure  the 
chorus  sing  the  second  stasimon.  Their  subject  is  the 
ruin  which  Helen  brought  on  Troy.  As  a  lion's  cub, 
caressed  by  young  and  old,  at  length  betrays  its  nature 
and  rewards  the  kindness  shown  it  by  a  bloody  feast, 

Even  so  to  Ilion's  city  came  by  stealth 

A  spirit  as  of  windless  seas  and  skies, 
A  gentle  phantom-form  of  joy  and  wealth. 

With  love's  soft  arrows  speeding  from  its  eyes. 
Love's  rose,  whose  thorn  doth  pierce  the  soul  in  subtle  wise. 

There  is  an  ancient  saying  that  prosperity  breeds  mis- 
fortune. It  is  rather  sin  that  begets  sorrow,  and 
Justice  works  her  will  in  spite  of  wealth. 

Seeing  Agamemnon  and  his  train  approaching,  the 
chorus  give  him  a  loyal  greeting  (third  episode).  The 
king,  still  seated  in  his  chariot,  acknowledges  their 
welcome  and  greets  the  gods  of  the  land.  Clytem- 
nestra  comes  from  the  palace  to  welcome  him,  followed 
by  attendants  carrying  rich  cloths  of  purple.  She 
describes  the  anxiety  which  she  had  felt  for  his  safety, 
and  tells  how  she  had  sent  Orestes,  the  pledge  and 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  163 

symbol  of  their  plighted  troth,  to  the  home  of  a  dis- 
tant friend,  that  he  might  not  be  exposed  to  danger  in 
case  of  a  revolt  in  the  land.  She  then  bids  him  enter 
the  palace. 

Sweet  lord,  step  forth, 
Step  from  thy  car,  I  pray — nay,  not  on  earth 
Plant  the  proud  foot,  O  King,  that  trod  down  Troy! 
Women!  why  tarry  ye,  whose  task  it  is 
To  spread  your  monarch's  path  with  tapestry? 
Swift,  swift,  with  purple  strew  his  passage  fair, 
That  justice  lead  him  to  a  home,  at  last. 
He  scarcely  looked  to  see.    For  what  remains. 
Zeal,  unsubdued  by  sleep,  shall  nerve  my  hand 
To  work  as  right  and  as  the  gods  command! 

Agamemnon  bids  her  honor  him  as  a  mortal,  not  as 
\  a  god,  for  he  dreads  the  divine  envy  that  follows 
excessive  pride.  "Count  no  man  happy  until  he  ends 
his  days  in  prosperity."  But  the  queen  urges  the 
point,  and  Agamemnon  reluctantly  yields,  though  he 
removes  his  sandals  before  stepping  upon  the  purple, 
lest  the  envy  of  the  gods  smite  him.  Enjoining  upon 
the  queen  to  treat  kindly  the  captive  maiden  Cassandra 
—  Priam's  daughter,  whom  he  had  chosen  from  the 
spoils  of  war  —  he  descends  from  the  chariot  and 
enters  the  palace.  Clytemnestra,  as  she  follows  him, 
utters  this  ominous  prayer  to  Zeus: 

Lord  of  Fulfilment,  all  my  vows  fulfil. 
And  whatsoe'er  it  be,  work  forth  Thy  will. 

So  ends  the  third  episode.     The  words  of  the  chorus 
in  the  third  stasimon  strike  a  note  of  foreboding: 

Wherefore,  for  ever,  on  the  wings  of  Fear 

Hovers  a  vision  drear 
Before  my  boding  heart?    A  strain. 
Unbidden  and  unwelcome,  thrills  mine  ear. 

Oracular  of  pain. 


164  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Not  as  of  old  upon  my  bosom's  throne 

Sits  Confidence,  to  spurn 
Such  fears,  like  dreams,  we  know  not  to  discern.     .    . 

Ah!  to  some  end  of  Fate,  unseen,  unguessed, 

Are  these  wild  throbbings  of  my  heart  and  breast — 
Yea,  of  some  doom  they  tell — 
Each  pulse  a  knell. 
Lief,  lief  I  were,  that  all 
To  unfulfilment's  hidden  realm  might  fall. 

The  fourth  episode  opens  with  the  entrance  of 
Clytemnestra,  who  roughly  orders  Cassandra  to  enter 
the  palace  and  begin  her  life  of  slavery.  Cassandra 
remains  silent  in  the  chariot,  and  does  not  answer 
even  the  gentler  words  of  the  chorus.  But  when 
Clytemnestra  has  departed  in  anger,  she  bursts  into 
a  sobbing  appeal  to  Apollo,  the  cause  of  all  her  woes,  ^ 
and  then  in  a  frenzy  of  prophetic  inspiration  foretells, 
in  impassioned  lyrics,  the  doom  impending  over  Aga- 
memnon and  herself;  but  in  language  the  imagery  of 
which  the  chorus  but  dimly  understands.^ 

Gas.    Home  cursed  of  God!  bear  witness  unto  me. 
The  visioned  woes  within — 

The  blood-stained  hands  of  them  that  smite  their  kin — 

The  strangling  noose,  and,  spattered  o'er 

With  human  blood,  the  reeking  floor! 
Cho.    How  like  a  sleuth-hound  questing  on  the  track, 

Keen-scented  unto  blood  and  death  she  hies! 
Gas.    Ah!  can  the  ghostly  guidance  fail, 

Whereby  my  prophet-soul  is  onwards  led? 

Look!  for  their  flesh  the  spectre-children  wail, 

Their  sodden  limbs,  on  which  their  father  fed! 

*  Apollo,  who  loved  her,  endowed  her  with  the  gift  of  prophecy  in  return 
for  the  promise  of  her  affection.  But  the  princess  then  repulsed  his 
advances.  Thereupon  Apollo  decreed  that  no  one  should  believe  her 
prophecies,  and  she  was  accordingly  regarded  as  a  madwoman  and  kept 
in  confinement. 

'Such  a  lyrical  dialogue  between  an  actor  and  the  chorus  was  called 
a  kommos. 


Tragic  Poetry.     iiEschylus              165  i 

Cho.    Long  since  we  knew  of  thy  prophetic  fame, —  1 

But  for  these  deeds  we  seek  no  prophet's  tongue.  | 

Cas.    God!  'tis  another  crime —  J 

Worse  than  the  storied  woe  of  olden  time,  : 

Cureless,  abhorred,  that  one  is  plotting  here—  j 

A  shaming  death,  for  those  that  should  be  dear!  \ 

Alas!  and  far  away,  in  foreign  land,  1 

He,  that  should  help,*  doth  stand!  ;i 

Cho.   I  knew  th'  old  tales,  the  city  rings  withal —  } 

But  now  thy  speech  is  dark  beyond  my  ken.  I 

Cas.    God!  a  new  sight!  a  net,  a  snare  of  hell,  1 

Set  by  her  hand — herself  a  snare  more  fell!  ] 

A  wedded  wife,  she  slays  her  lord;  -\ 

Helped  by  a  dastard  hand!     Ye  powers!  whose  hate  j 

Of  Atreus'  home  no  blood  can  satiate —  • 

Raise  the  wild  cry  above  the  sacrifice  abhorred!  i 

Cho.   Why  biddest  thou  some  fiend   1  know  not  whom,  ] 
Shriek  o'er  the  house?     Thine  is  no  cheering  word. 
Back  to  my  heart  in  frozen  fear,  I  feel 
My  waning  life-blood  run — 

The  blood  that  round  the  wounding  steel  ] 

Ebbs  slow  as  sinks  Life's  parting  sun —  ', 

Swift,  swift  and  sure,  some  woe  comes  pressing  on!  | 

Cas.    Woe,  Paris,  woe  on  thee!     Thy  bridal  joy  1 

Was  death  and  fire  upon  thy  race  and  Troy!  \ 

And  woe  for  thee,  Scamander's  flood!  'j 

Beside  thy  banks,  O  river  fair,  j 

I  grew,  in  tender  nursing  care,  ] 

From  childhood  unto  maidenhood!  \ 

Now  not  by  thine,  but  by  Cocytus'  stream,  •  | 

Or  Acheron's^  banks,  shall  ring  my  boding  scream. 

Cho.             Too  plain  is  all,  too  plain!  j 

A  child  might  read  aright  thy  fateful  strain!  i 

Deep  in  my  heart  their  piercing  fang,  J 

Terror  and  sorrow  set,  the  while  I  heard  ■ 

That  piteous,  low,  tender  word,  i 

Yet  to  mine  ear  and  heart  a  crushing  pang.  * 

} 

^Referring  to  Orestes.                  *Rivers  of  the  lower  world.  * 


1 66  Homer  to  Theocritus 

In  calmer  and  clearer  language  she  now  depicts  the 
doom  of  the  house  of  Atreus,  tracing  the  cause  back 
to  the  crime  of  Thyestes  in  wronging  his  brother's 
wife,  followed  by  the  more  horrible  crime  of  Atreus: 

Behold  ye — yonder,  on  the  roof  aloft, — 

The  spectre-children  sitting — look. — such  shapes 

As  dreams  are  made  of— semblances  of  babes 

Slain  by  their  kinsman's  hand. 

And  look,  what  loathsome  burthen  piteous, 

Blasting  the  sight,  within  their  hands  they  bear, 

Their  own  rent  flesh,  on  which  their  father  fed! 

Tearing  off  her  prophet's  robes,  she  foretells  the 
vengeance  of  Orestes: 

Ah  me! 

I  die,  yet  not  unheeded  of  the  gods — 

For  by  their  will  shall  one  requite  my  doom: 

He,  to  avenge  his  father's  blood  outpoured, 

Shall  smite  and  slay,  with  matricidal  hand. 

Aye,  he  shall  come — tho'  far  away  he  roam, 

A  banished  wanderer  in  a  stranger's  land — 

To  crown  his  kindred's  edifice  of  ill. 

Called  home  to  vengeance  by  his  father's  fall: 

Thus  have  the  high  gods  sworn,  and  shall  fulfil. 

She  predicts  her  own  death.  The  chorus  counsel 
flight,  but  in  vain.  Cassandra  sees  that  her  hour  is 
come,  and  is  resolved  to  meet  death  bravely. 

Once  more — one  utterance,  but  not  of  wail, 
Though  for  my  death — and  then  I  speak  no  more. 
Sun!  thou  whose  beam  I  shall  not  see  again. 
To  thee  I  cry:  Let  those  whom  vengeance  calls 
To  slay  their  kindred's  slayers,  quit  withal 
The  death  of  me,  the  slave,  the  fenceless  prey. 
Ah,  state  of  mortal  man,  in  time  of  weal, 
A  line,  a  shadow!  and,  if  ill  fate  fall. 
One  wet  sponge-sweep  wipes  all  our  trace  away — 
And  this  I  deem  less  piteous,  of  the  twain. 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  167 

With  these  last  words  she  enters  the  palace,  while 
the  chorus  lament  the  uncertainty  of  human  happiness. 
Agamemnon  has  returned  triumphant  from  Troy,  but 
is  about  to  suffer  guilt  for  the  death  of  his  ancestors. 
At  this  point,  the  beginning  of  the  exodus^  piercing 
cries  issue  from  the  palace.  The  members  of  the 
chorus  debate  about  their  course  of  action — shall  they 
call  for  aid  or  rush  within  to  the  rescue?  The  doors 
of  the  palace  are  suddenly  thrown  open  as  the  elders 
are  on  the  point  of  entering.^  They  see  the  body  of 
Agamemnon  lying  beside  that  of  Cassandra,  and 
Clytemnestra  looking  upon  her  bloody  work.  She 
steps  forward  and  calmly  exults  in  what  she  has  done. 

This  is  the  sum  and  issue  of  the  strife 

Wherein  long  since  he  gave  my  love  defeat, 

Of  me  deep-pondered  and  at  length  fulfilled. 

All  is  avowed,  and,  as  I  smote,  I  stand 

With  foot  set  firm  upon  a  finished  thing! 

Yea,  thus  I  wrought — even  I — ere  he  could  move 

A  foot  to  fly,  an  arm  to  ward  his  doom! 

Even  as  the  trammel  hems  the  scaly  shoal, 

I  trapped  him  with  inextricable  toils, 

The  ill  abundance  of  a  baffling  robe; 

Then  smote  him,  once,  again — and  at  each  wound 

He  cried  aloud,  then  as  in  death  relaxed 

Each  limb,  and  sank  to  earth;  and  as  he  lay. 

Once  more  I  smote  him,  with  the  third  last  blo^y, 

Sacred  to  Hades,  Saviour  of  the  Dead. 

Answering  the  stern  reproaches  of  the  chorus,  she 
justifies  her  deed,  referring  to  the  sacrifice  of  Iphige- 
neia,  whom  he  slew,  as  he  would  a  sheep,  to  charm  the 

'It  was  an  unwritten  law  of  tlie  Greek  drama  that  no  murder  or  violent 
death  should  be  represented  in  view  of  the  spectators.  By  a  device  such 
as  is  here  employed  the  chorus  is  supposed  to  see  and  describe  the 
horrible  sight,  which,  in  its  details,  is  not  visible  to  the  others.  The  tragic 
effect  is  produced  by  their  language  alone,  assisted  by  the  imagination  of 
the  spectators. 


i68  Homer  to  Theocritus 

winds  of  Thrace ;  and  to  his  unfaithfulness  in  wedlock, 
for  he  brought  home  Cassandra,  "who  now  lies  as  erst 
she  lay,  close  to  his  side."  She  trusts  to  ^gisthus  to 
defend  her  cause.  The  chorus  raise  a  lament  over  the 
king,  which  Clytemnestra  interrupts,  now  to  defend 
her  deed,  now  to  exult  in  it.  But  the  chorus  chant 
the  solemn  warning: 

The  slayer  of  to-day  shall  die  to-morrow — 

The  wage  of  wrong  is  woe. 
While  time  shall  be,  while  Zeus  in  heaven  is  lord, 

His  law  is  fixed  and  stern; 
On  him  that  wrought  shall  vengeance  be  outpoured — 

The  tides  of  doom  return. 
The  Children  of  the  Curse  abide  within 

These  halls  of  high  estate — 
And  none  can  wrench  from  off  the  home  of  sin 

The  clinging  grasp  of  fate. 

^gisthus  enters  from  the  side  and  gloats  over  the 
slain,  for  the  day  of  vengeance  has  arrived  for  the 
slain  children  of  Thyestes — his  own  brothers.  The 
leaders  of  the  chorus  defy  his  authority.  He  shall  not 
rule  over  Argos  if  Orestes  still  lives.  The  chorus 
advance  upon  the  usurper  with  drawn  swords,  and 
-^gisthus  stands  ready  to  fight.  But  Clytemnestra 
intervenes  and  amid  the  taunts  of  the  chorus  leads 
^gisthus  away  with  the  words:. 

"  Let  the  cur-pack  howl  and  yell — 
I  and  thou  will  rule  the  palace  and  will  order  all  things  well!  " 

So  ends  the  Agamemnon.  Immediately  after  it, 
without  change  of  scene,  followed  the  Libation  Bearers. 
As  Electra  and  her  maids  pour  a  libation  upon  the 
tomb  of  Agamemnon,  Orestes,  her  brother,  appears, 
and  their  recognition  ensues.     They  plan  vengeance 


Tragic  Poetry,     i^schylus  169 

together  upon  their  mother,  according  to  the  com- 
mand of  Apollo  given  to  Orestes.  Gaining  admission 
to  the  palace  in  the  guise  of  a  stranger,  he  tells 
Clytemnestra  a  false  tale  of  his  own  death,  at  which 
she  secretly  rejoices.  With  Electra's  aid  Orestes  kills 
^Egisthus  and  Clytemnestra.  Then  a  frenzy  of  mad- 
ness overcomes  him,  and  he  fancies  that  he  sees  in 
pursuit  of  him  the  dreadful  Furies,  with  dark  robes 
and  snaky  hair,  coming  to  avenge  his  mother's  murder. 
The  tragedy  closes  with  the  following  chant,  accom- 
panying the  outward  march  of  the  maidens  who  form 
the  chorus: 

Behold,  the  storm  of  woe  divine 
That  raves  and  beats  on  Atreus'  line 

Its  great  third  blast  hath  blown. 
First  was  Thyestes'  loathly  woe — 
The  rueful  feast  of  long  ago, 

On  children's  flesh,  unknown. 
And  next  the  kingly  chief's  despite. 
When  he  who  led  the  Greeks  to  fight 

Was  in  the  bath  hewn  down. 
And  now  the  offspring  of  the  race 
Stands  in  the  third,  the  saviour's  place, — 

To  save — oi  to  consume? 
O  whither,  ere  it  be  fulfilled, 
Ere  its  fierce  blast  be  hushed  and  stilled, 

Shall  blow  the  wind  of  doom? 

The  third  member  of  the  trilogy  is  the  Furies.  The 
scene  is  at  first  at  Delphi,  before  the  temple  of  Apollo. 
We  see,  inside  the  temple,  Orestes  clinging  to  the  altar, 
a  suppliant  of  the  god,  and  around  him  the  dreadful 
avenging  Furies  slumbering.  Apollo  bids  Orestes  be 
of  good  cheer,  and  to  escape  to  Athens  while  the 
Furies  are  still  asleep.     As  he   leaves,   the  ghost  of 


I  JO  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Clytemnestra  rises  and  arouses  the  Furies  to  pursue. 
They  rush  forth,  scenting  like  hounds  the  track  of 
blood.  The  scene  shifts  to  Athens.  Orestes  enters 
and  throws  himself  upon  the  statue  of  Athene,  seeking 
her  protection.  The  Furies  soon  appear.  Athene 
comes  down  and  organizes  a  trial  before  citizens  of 
Athens,  thus  constituting  the  court  of  the  Areopagus. 
Apollo  pleads  in  defense  of  Orestes,  the  Furies  prose- 
cute. The  vote  is  a  tie,  but  Athene,  who  presides, 
gives  the  casting  vote  in  favor  of  the  accused.  The 
Furies,  at  first  outraged  by  this  result,  are  appeased 
by  the  promise  of  an  honorable  worship  in  Athens 
under  the  name  of  Eumenides,  or  "the  Gracious 
Ones."  The  curse  upon  the  house  of  Atreus  is  at  last 
extinct.  The  play  closes  with  a  grand  procession 
in  which  the  Eumenides  are  solem/nly  escorted  to  their 
new  home — a  cave  beneath  the  Areopagus.  We  quote 
the  song  of  the  Furies  tracking  Orestes  to  his  refuge 
in  Athens: 

Ho!  clear  is  here  the  trace  df  him  we  seek: 
Follow  the  track  of  blood,  the  silent  sign! 
Like  to  some  hound  that  hunts  a  wounded  fawn, 
We  snuff  along  the  scent  of  drippmg  gore. 
And  inwardly  we  pant,  for  many  a  day 
Toiling  in  chase  that  shall  fordo  the  man; 
Far  o'er  and  o'er  the  wide  land  have  I  ranged, 
And  o'er  the  wide  sea,  flying  without  wings 
Swift  as  a  sail,  I  pressed  upon  his  track 
Who  now  hard  by  is  lurking,  well  I  wot, 
For  scent  of  mortal  blood  allures  me  here. 

Follow  him,  seek  him  —  round  and  round 

Scent  and  snuff  and  scan  the  ground, 

Lest  unharmed  he  slip  away  — 

He  who  did  his  mother  slay! 
Hist  —  he  is  there!    See  him  his  arms  entwine 
Around  the  image  of  the  maid  divine  — 


Tragic  Poetry.     iEschylus  171 

Thus  aided,  for  the  deed  he  wrought 
Unto  the  judgment  wills  he  to  be  brought! 

The  earliest  of  the  extant  plays  is  the  Suppliants^ 
named  for  the  chorus,  the  fifty  daughters  of  Danaus, 
who  have  fled  with  their  father  from  Egypt  to  Argos 
in  order  to  escape  marriage  with  their  cousins,  the 
fifty  sons  of  Egyptus.  They  are  received  and  pro- 
tected by  the  king  of  Argos.  The  earliest  play  the 
date  of  whose  production  is  known  is  the  Persians^ 
brought  out  in  472  B.  C.  The  scene  is  laid  at  Susa, 
capital  of  the  Persian  Empire.  Persian  elders,  who 
form  the  chorus,  are  gathered  at  the  tomb  of  Darius. 
The  aged  queen  Atossa  appears.  While  they  ex- 
change their  anxious  forebodings  about  the  host  which 
Xerxes  has  led  against  the  Greeks,  a  messenger  ap- 
pears and  announces  the  disaster  at  Salamis.  Atossa 
summons  up  the  ghost  of  her  husband,  Darius,  who 
predicts  still  greater  disaster  to  the  army  in  Greece 
and  warns  the  Persians  to  fight  no  more  against  the 
Greeks,  "for  the  very  land  is  an  ally  to  them."  Finally 
Xerxes  appears  with  a  few  wretched  followers,  and, 
with  the  chorus,  fills  the  scene  with  extravagant  lam- 
entations. The  play  contains  some  stately  choral  odes 
and  a  famous  description  of  the  battle  of  Salamis,  from 
which  the  following  selection  is  taken: 

But  when  white-steeded  Day,  bright  to  behold. 
Held  the  wide  earth,  from  the  Hellenes  first, 
Like  joyous  chant,  rang  out  their  battle-cry, 
And  forthwith  Echo,  from  the  island  rocks, 
Sent  back  responsive  an  inspiring  shout. 
On  all  the  Persians,  cheated  in  their  hopes, 
Fell  terror;  for  by  no  means  as  in  flight 
Their  solemn  paean  did  th'  Hellenes  sing. 
But  with  stout  courage  speeding  to  the  fray. 


72  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  trumpet's  blare  fired  all  their  ranks,  and  straight, 

With  simultaneous  dip  of  sounding  oar, 

They  at  the  signal  smote  the  surging  brine, 

And  instant  all  conspicuous  were  to  sight. 

First  the  right  wing,  well  marshall'd,  took  the  lead: 

Then  their  whole  naval  force  in  fair  array 

Bore  down  against  us.    All  at  once  was  heard 

A  mighty  shout:    "Sons  of  Hellenes,  on. 

Your  country  free,  your  children  free,  your  wives. 

The  temples  of  your  fathers'  deities, 

Your  tombs  ancestral;  for  your  all  ye  fight." 

And  from  our  side  clamour  of  Persian  speech 

In  answer  rose;  no  time  was  then  for  pause, 

But  instant  galley  against  galley  dashed 

Her  armature  of  brass.    A  ship  of  Hellas 

Led  the  encounter,  and  from  the  Punic  barque 

Sheared  her  high  crest.    Thereon  as  fortune  led, 

Ship  drave  on  ship;  at  first  the  Persian  host, 

A  mighty  flood,  made  head;  but  soon  their  ships 

Thronged  in  the  strait,  of  mutual  aid  bereft. 

Each  against  each  other  dashed  with  brazen  beak, 

Crushing  the  oar-banks  of  their  proper  fleet; 

While  the  Hellenes  ships,  not  without  skill. 

Circling  around  them  smote:  dead  hulks  of  ships 

Floatei  keel-upwards,  and,  with  wrecks  o'erstrewn 

And  slaughtered  men,  lost  was  the  sea  from  sight. 

Ay,  shores  and  reefs  were  crowded  with  the  dead. 

In  flight  disordered  every  ship  was  rowed. 

Poor  remnant  of  the  Persian  armament. 

Then  as  men  strike  at  tunnies,  or  a  haul 

Of  captured  fishes,  the  Hellenes,  armed 

With  splint  of  oar,  or  fragment  of  the  wreck, 

Batter'd,  and  clave  with  dislocating  blows. 

Shrieks  and  loud  wailing  filled  the  ocean  brine, 

Till  all  'neath  eye  of  swarthy  night  was  lost. 

But  all  our  losses,  though  for  ten  whole  days 

I  told  them  over,  could  I  not  recount. 

Of  this  be  sure,  that  never  in  one  day 

Perished  of  men  so  vast  a  multitude- 
Swan  wick. 


Tragic  Poetry.     iEschylus  173 

The  Seven  against  Thebes  won  the  first  prize  in  467 
B.  C.  The  trilogy  to  which  it  belonged  set  forth  the 
whole  tragedy  of  the  house  of  Labdacus,  as  the  plays 
of  the  Oresteian  trilogy  give  the  story  of  the  house  of 
Atreus.  The  aim  of  the  poet  is  here  again  to  vindi- 
cate the  divine  government  by  exhibiting  the  ultimate 
triumph  of  justice  and  the  certain  punishment  of  sin. 
Since  the  legendary  history  of  the  kings  of  Thebes 
furnishes  the  theme  of  a  number  of  extant  tragedies 
of  Sophocles  and  Euripides,  we  may  briefly  trace  the 
story  here.  Laius,  the  son  of  Labdacus  and  husband  of 
Jocasta,  was  king  of  Thebes.  Seeking  to  evade  the 
oracle  which  declared  that  he  should  be  slain  by  his 
own  son,  he  caused  his  infant  to  be  exposed  on  Mount 
Cithaeron.  The  child  was  found  by  a  shepherd,  and 
adopted  as  his  son  and  heir  by  Polybus,  the  king  of  Cor- 
inth, receiving  the  name  of  CEdipus.'  Grown  to  man- 
hood, (Edipus  was  taunted  with  not  being  the  true  son 
of  Polybus.  He  inquired  of  the  oracle  at  Delphi,* and 
was  told  only  that  he  should  slay  his  own  father  and 
marry  his  own  mother.  To  escape  this  fate  he  resolved 
not  to  return  to  Corinth.  On  his  way  to  Thebes  he 
encountered  Laius  and  slew  him.  At  Thebes  he  solved 
the  riddle  of  the  Sphinx,  obtained  the  kingdom  as  his 
reward,  and  married  Jocasta.  By  her  he  became  the 
father  of  two  sons,  Eteocles  and  Polyneices,  and  of  two 
daughters,  Antigone  and  Ismene.  The  city  was  vis- 
ited with  a  plague,  which  could  not  be  stayed  until  the 
murderer  of  Laius  should  be  discovered  and  punished. 
CEdipus  learned  the  truth  concerning  his  birth,  and  put- 
ting out  his  eyes  in  grief,  resigned  the  kingdom  to  his 
sons.    Jocasta  hung  herself  in  shame.    His  sons  confined 

'i.e.,  '•Swollen-foot,"  for  his  feet  were  pierced  by  thongs  when  exposed 
to  die. 


174  Homer  to  Theocritus 

their  father  in  prison,  whereat  Qidipus  put  a  curse 
upon  them.  The  brothers  quarreled  about  the  sover- 
eignty. Polyneices  collected  an  army  under  seven 
chieftains,  including  himself,  and  in  the  fight  that  fol- 
lowed the  brothers  slew  each  other.  The  story  of 
the  wanderings  and  death  of  (Edipus  and  of  the  fate 
of  Antigone  will  be  told  elsewhere. 

The  other  members  of  the  trilogy  Drought  the  tragic 
events  of  this  story  down  to  the  siege  of  Thebes  by 
Polyneices.  The  Seven  against  Thebes  opens  with  an 
address  of  Eteocles  to  the  assembled  Thebans.  A 
messenger  tells  of  the  advance  of  the  seven  mighty 
chieftains  against  the  gates.  The  chorus  of.  Theban 
maidens  enter  in  terror  and  supplicate  the  gods  for 
protection.  A  scout  tells  Eteocles  the  narhes  of  the 
heroes  stationed  at  the  seven  gates.  Eteocles  assigns 
his  own  chieftains  one  against  each,  and  himself 
chooses  his  brother  Polyneices  to  be  his  opponent, 
though  he  knows  that  the  curse  of  his  father  is  work- 
ing out  his  doom.  He  goes  forth  to  battle.  Soon  a 
messenger  reports  that  the  brothers  have  been  slain  by 
each  other.  Their  bodies  are  brought  in,  Antigone  and 
Ismene  among  the  mourners.  Then  a  decree  is  pro- 
claimed that  the  body  of  Polyneices  shall  be  cast  out 
unburied.  Antigone  resolves  to  bury  him  in  spite  of 
the  decree.  The  play  closes  with  the  funeral  proces- 
sion, Antigone  and  one-half  of  the  chorus  following 
the  body  of  Polyneices,  Ismene  and  the  other  half 
that  of  Eteocles.  I  quote  from  the  passage  in  which 
Eteocles  resolves  to  stand  against  his  brother 

Mess.  Now  at  the  seventh  gate  the  seventh  chief, 
Thy  proper  mother's  son,  I  will  announce, 
What  curses  for  the  state  he  imprecates; 


Tragic  Poetry.     iEschylus  175 

That  he  may  stand  upon  the  walls,  he  prays:  — 
That,  heralded  as  a  king  to  all  the  land, 
With  paeans  for  its  capture,  he  with  thee 
Fighting,  may  slay  thee,  dying  by  thy  side, 
Or  thee,  who  wrong'd  him,  chasing  forth  alive, 
Requite  in  kind  his  proper  banishment. 
Such  words  he  shouts  and  calls  upon  the  gods, 
Who  o'er  his  race  preside  and  Fatherland, 
With  gracious  eye  to  look  upon  his  prayers. 
Eteo.  O  heaven-demented  race  of  CEdipus, 

My  race,  tear-fraught,  detested  of  the  gods. 
Alas,  our  father's  curses  now  bear  fruit! 
But  it  beseems  not  to  lament  or  weep, 
Lest  lamentations  sadder  still  be  born. 
For  him,  too  truly  Polybeikes  named, — 
What  his  device  will  work  we  soon  shall  know; 
Whether  his  braggart  words,  with  madness  fraught, 
Gold-blazoned  on  his  shield,  shall  lead  him  back. 
Had  Justice,  virgin  child  of  Zeus,  in  sooth. 
Guided  his  deeds  and  thoughts,  this  might  have  been; 
But  neither  when  he  fled  the  darksome  womb, 
Nor  in  his  childhood,  nor  in  youth's  fair  prime, 
Nor  when  his  chin  thick  hair  o'erspread,  with  him 
Hath  Justice  converse  held,  or  claimed  him  hers; 
Nor  in  this  outrage  on  his  Fatherland 
Deem  I  she  now  beside  him  deigns  to  stand. 
For  Justice  would,  in  sooth,  belie  her  name 
Did  she  with  this  all-daring  man  consort. 
In  these  regards  confiding  will  I  go, 
Myself  will  meet  him.     Who  with  better  right? 
Brother  'gainst  brother,  chieftain  against  chief, 
And  foeman  against  foe,  I'll  take  my  stand. 
Quick,  bring  my  greaves,  bulwark  'gainst  spear 
and  stones. 

Swanwick. 

The  Prometheus  Bound  w^as  produced  some  time 
between  the  Seven  against  Thebes  and  the  Agamemnon. 
It  is  unique  among  the  extant  Greek  tragedies  in  that 


176  Homer  to  Theocritus 

all  the  characters  of  the  drama  are  gods  or  demigods. 
It  appeals  to  our  sympathies  in  some  ways  even  more 
than  the  Agamemnon^  the  grandest  and  most  majestic 
of  ^schylus'  creations,  for  its  subject  is  the  suffering 
of  a  god  for  man's  sake.  In  the  struggle  between 
Zeus  and  the  Titans,  Prometheus,  one  of  the  Titans, 
had  taken  the  part  of  Zeus.  But  when  Zeus,  estab- 
lished upon  the  throne,  proposed  to  destroy  mankind 
and  to  create  a  new  race,  Promethus  opposed  his  plan, 
and  gave  to  mortals  fire,  the  seed  of  civilization. 
Zeus  condemned  Prometheus  to  be  nailed  to  a  rock. 
At  this  point  the  Prometheus  Bound  begins.  Hephaes- 
tus and  two  attendants,  Force  and  Strength,  bring  in 
Prometheus  and  nail  him  to  a  rock  in  Scythia.  The 
Titan  deigns  no  answer  to  their  taunts,  but  when  they 
depart  he  appeals  to  nature  to  witness  his  unjust  pun- 
ishment. The  chorus  of  sea-nymphs  now  enter  upon 
a  winged  car  and  extend  their  sympathies  to  the  suf- 
ferer. Prometheus  tells  them  of  a  great  danger  which 
threatens  Zeus,  known  only  to  himself.^  The  god 
Oceanus  enters  upon  a  flying  steed  and  remonstrates 
with  Prometheus  for  his  stubborn  resistance  to  Zeus, 
but  in  vain.  Then  lo,  a  victim  of  Zeus'  love,  another 
example  of  his  ingratitude,  visits  the  scene  in  her 
frenzied  wanderings  and  learns  her  future  from  Prome- 
theus. Zeus  sends  Hermes  to  wring  the  secret  from 
the  Titan.  When  Prometheus  refuses  the  thunderbolt 
of  Zeus  crashes  down  upon  him,  burying  him  in  Tar- 
tarus. So  ends  the  tragedy.  The  play  which  followed 
it  in  the  trilogy  told  how  Prometheus  was  at  length 
delivered    from    his  torture  and  reconciled  to  Zeus. 

^That,  if  he  marry  Thetis,  she  shall   bear  a  son   mightier  than  his 
father.    See  p.  23. 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  177 

I  quote  a  part  of  the  soliloquy  of  Prometheus  after  he 
has  been  chained  to  the  rock,  and  from  the  choral  ode 
which  follows: 

Prom.  O  holy  ^ther,  and  swift-wingM  Winds, 

And  River-wells,  and  laughter  innumerous 
Of  yon  Sea-waves!    Earth,  mother  of  us  all. 
And  all-viewing  cyclic  Sun,  I  cry  on  you!  — 
Behold  me,  a  god,  what  I  endure  from  gods! 

Behold  with  throe  on  throe, 

How,  wasted  by  this  woe, 
wrestle  down  the  myriad  years  of  time! 

Behold,  how  fast  around  me, 
The  new  King  of  the  happy  ones  sublime 
Has  flung  the  chain  he  forged,  has  shamed  and  bound 

me! 
Woe,  woe,  to-day's  woe  and  the  coming  morrow's, 
I  cover  with  one  groan!    And  where  is  found  me 

A  limit  to  these  sorrows? 
And  yet  what  word  do  I  say?    I  have  foreknown 
Clearly  all  things  that  should  be  —  nothing  done 
Comes  sudden  to  my  soul  —  and  I  must  bear 
What  is  ordained  with  patience,  being  aware 
Necessity  doth  front  the  universe 
With  an  invincible  gesture.    Yet  this  curse. 
Which  strikes  me  now,  I  find  it  hard  to  brave 
In  silence  or  in  speech.     Because  I  gave 
Honour  to  mortals,  I  have  yoked  my  soul 
To  th:s  compelling  fate!    Because  I  stole 
The  secret  fount  of  fire,  whose  bubbles  went 
Over  the  ferrule's  brim,  and  manward  sent 
Art's  mighty  means  and  perfect  rudiment. 
That  sin  I  expiate  in  this  agony; 
Hung  here  in  fetters,  'neath  the  blanching  sky! 

[The  sea-nymphs  draw  near. 

Ah,  ah  me!  what  a  sound! 
What  a  fragrance  sweeps  up  from  a  pinion  unseen. 
Of  a  god  or  a  mortal,  or  a  nature  between, 


lyS  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Sweeping  up  to  this  rock  where  the  earth  has  her 

bound, 
To  have  sight  of  my  pangs,  or  some  guerdon  obtain. 
Lo!  a  god  in  the  anguish,  a  god  in  the  chain! 

The  god  Zeus  hateth  sore, 

And  his  gods  hate  again. 
As  many  as  tread  on  his  glorified  floor, 
Because  I  loved  mortals,  too  much  evermore! 
Alas  me!  what  a  murmur  and  motion  I  hear, 

As  of  birds  flying  near! 

And  the  air  undersings 

The  light  stroke  of  their  wings  — 
And  all  life  that  approaches  I  wait  for  in  fear. 
Chor.  Fear  nothing!  our  troop 

Floats  lovingly  up 

With  a  quick-oaring  stroke 

Of  wings  steered  to  the  rock; 
Having  softened  the  soul  of  our  father  below! 
For  the  gales  of  swift-bearing  have  sent  me  a  sound, 
And  the  clank  of  the  iron,  the  malleted  blow,' 

Smote  down  the  profound 

Of  my  caverns  of  old. 
And  struck  the  red  light  in  a  blush  from  my  brow, 
Till  I  sprang  up  unsandaled,  in  haste  to  behold, 
And  rushed  forth  on  my  chariot  of  wings  manifold. 

Mrs.  Browning. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

SOPHOCLES 

Sophocles— His  Position  in  Attic  Tragedy  —  The  Ajax  — 
The  Electra  —  The  Philoctetes  —  The  Women  of  Trachis 
—  The  CEdiptis  the  King — The  CEdipus  at  Colonus  — 
The  Antigone. 

Sophocles,  the  second  great  tragic  poet  of  Athens, 
was  born  about  495  B.  C.  in  the  village  of  Colonus, 
near  Athens.  The  wealth  of  his  father  secured  him 
an  excellent  education  and  a  position  in  the  best 
Athenian  society.  As  a  lad  he  was  remarkable  for  his 
beauty,  and  was  chosen  to  lead  the  chorus  of  boys 
which  sang  a  hymn  of  praise  for  the  victory  at  Salamis 
in  480  B.  C.  His  first  victory  at  the  City  Dionysia, 
in  468  B.  C,  is  said  to  have  been  won  at  his  first  com- 
petition. He  defeated  ^shcylus  on  this  occasion. 
Early  in  his  career  he  won  applause  both  as  a  poet  and 
as  an  actor  in  a  play  entitled  the  Washerwomen^  in 
which  he  played  the  part  of  the  maiden  Nausicaa  play- 
ing at  ball.  His  weak  voice,  however,  compelled  him 
to  give  up  acting,  which  was  gradually  becoming  an 
independent  profession.  He  made  two  important 
innovations  in  the  dramatic  art,  the  introduction  of 
the  third  actor  and  the  use  of  painted  scenery.  Both 
as  a  poet  and  as  a  man  he  was  a  favorite  of  the 
Athenians  throughout  his  career,  winning  no  less  than 
eighteen  victories  at  the  City  Dionysia  alone  and 
never  falling    below    second    place.      Of    the    upward 

179 


i8o  Homer  to  Theocritus 

of  one  hundred  plays  which  he  wrote  in  the  course  of 
his  long  dramatic  career  of  over  sixty  years  only  seven 
survive. 

Sophocles  is  a  true  representative  of  the  age  of 
Pericles,  of  the  fine  aristocracy  of  culture  which  makes 
the  period  lying  between  460  and  430  B.  C.  the  great- 
est and  most  splendid  of  antiquity.  His  relation  to 
letters  is  comparable  to  that  of  Pheidias  to  art. 
Euripides,  on  the  other  hand,  was  the  poet  of  the 
extreme  democracy,  and  stood  for  entirely  different 
ideals;  while  ^schylus,  whose  early  manhood  fell  in 
the  stirring  times  in  which  Athens  wrestled  first  with 
the  tyranny  for  political  freedom  and  then  with  the 
Persian  Empire  for  her  very  existence,  was  of  the  more 
rugged  type,  sturdily  striving  to  maintain  the  older 
ideals  both  in  politics  and  in  religion.  Sophocles  stands 
nearer  to  ^^schylus  than  to  Euripides,  though  only 
ten  years  older  than  the  latter.  Of  Euripides  as  a  poet 
we  shall  speak  later;  as  between  ^schylus  and  Sopho- 
cles one  or  two  characteristics  may  be  pointed  out. 
.  The  actions  of  the  characters  in  ^schylus  are  gov- 
erned largely  by  destiny.  The  characters  are  heroic, 
in  the  first  place,  and  their  fate  was  already  fixed  in 
the  legends  of  which  the  poet  made  use.  ^schylus 
endeavors  to  show  how  their  fate  was  worked  out 
under  the  universal  laws  established  by  the  gods.  In 
this  sort  of  fatalism  less  stress  could  be  laid  upon 
the  operation  of  human  motives  in  the  individual. 
Sophocles,  on  the  other  hand,  laid  greater  stress  upon 
^  the  individual  and  his  motives  and  less  upon  the  irre- 
sistible law.  His  characters  are  accordingly  more 
human,  though  still  heroic.  In  some  of  his  plays  we 
note  the  development  of  character  during  the  progress 


Sophocles  18 1 

of  the  action — a  thing  unknown  in  ^schylus.  The 
details  of  his  plays  are  more  carefully  studied,  both 
as  regards  the  plot  and  the  language.  Under  an 
apparent  simplicity  lies  a  subtlety  of  thought  and 
a  carefully  studied  adjustment  of  parts  that  only  pro- 
found study  and  sympathy  will  reveal.  The  best  of 
his  tragedies  are  unsurpassed  as  works  of  art  in  the 
history  of  literature — embodiments  of  beauty  and 
truth,  harmony  and  grace. 

The  earliest  extant  play  is  the  AJax^  produced 
before  440  B.  C.  Ajax,  son  of  Telamon,  one  of  the 
noblest  of  the  heroes  before  Troy,  contended  with 
Odysseus  for  the  prize  of  Achilles'  armor,  which  was 
to  be  awarded  to  the  bravest  after  Achilles.  The 
prize  was  given  to  Odysseus.  Smarting  under  the 
injustice  of  this  decision,  Ajax  resolves  to  slay  the 
leaders,  Agamemnon  and  Menelaus.  Athene  thwarts 
his  design  and  turns  him,  blinded  by  madness,  against 
the  flocks,  upon  which  he  exhausts  his  rage,  thinking 
them  his  foes.  At  the  opening  of  the  play  Athene 
shows  to  Odysseus  the  still  demented  hero  sitting  in 
his  tent.  Soon,  however,  Ajax  returns  to  his  senses, 
and  is  overwhelmed  by  the  knowledge  of  the  disgrace 
and  ridicule  which  his  act  will  bring  upon  him.  He 
resolves  to  die,  refusing  to  listen  to  the  prayers  of  the 
chorus  of  sailors  from  his  own  home,  Salamis,  or  of 
his  faithful  wife,  the  captive  Tecmessa.  At  length, 
however,  he  pretends  to  yield  to  them,  and  goes  down 
to  the  sea  as  if  to  cleanse  himself.  Meanwhile  his 
brother  Teucer  arrives,  and  is  anxious  because  of  the 
absence  of  Ajax.  The  chorus  and  Tecmessa  hasten 
away  to  search  for  him.  The  scene  changes.  Ajax 
is  seen   in   the   background,    half   hidden   from  view. 


iSi  Homer  to  Theocritus 

After  an  appeal  to  the  gods  he  hurls  himself  upon  his 
sword.  Soon  his  body  is  found  by  Tecmessa  and  the 
chorus.  An  altercation  ensues  between  Teucer  and 
Menelaus  on  the  question  of  his  burial.  At  the  request 
of  Odysseus  Agamemnon  decides  to  award  Ajax  an 
honorable  burial.  The  funeral  procession  closes  the 
play.  This  last  portion,  like  the  close  of  the  I/iad 
and  Odyssey,  serves  as  an  epilogue  to  the  real  plot, 
which,  to  the  modern  mind,  is  concluded  with  the 
death  of  Ajax.  I  quote  first  the  beautiful  choral  ode 
to  Salamis: 

O  glorious  Salamis! 
Thou  dwellest,  blest  within  thy  sea-girt  shores, 

Admired  of  all  men  still; 
While  I,  poor  fool,  long  since  abiding  here 

In  Ida's  grassy  rriead, 

Winter  and  summer  too, 
Dwell,  worn  with  woe,  through  months  innumerable, 
Still  brooding  o'er  the  fear  of  evil  things, 

That  I  ere  long  shall  pass 
To  shades  of  Hades  terrible  and  dread. 

And  now  our  Aias  comes, 
Fresh  troubler,  hard  to  heal  (ah  me!  ah  me!) 

And  dwells  with  madness  sore, 
Which  God  inflicts;  him  thou  of  old  didst  send 

Mighty  in  battle  fierce; 

But  now  in  lonely  woe 
Wandering,  great  sorrow  he  to  friends  is  found, 
And  the  high  deeds  of  worthiest  praise  of  old, 

Loveless  to  loveless  souls, 
Are  with  the  Atreidae  fallen,  fallen  low. 

And  lo!  his  mother,  worn  with  length  of  days, 

And  white  with  hoary  age, 
When  she  shall  hear  his  frenzied  soul's  disease,    . 

With  wailing,  wailing  loud, 


Sophocles  183 

Will  she,  ill-starred  one,  cry,  nor  pour  the  strain 

Of  nightingale's  sad  song. 
But  shriller  notes  will  utter  in  lament, 

And  on  her  breast  will  fall 

The  smiting  of  her  hands, 
And  fearful  tearing  of  her  hoary  hair. 

For  better  would  he  fare  in  Hades  dread, 

Who  liveth  sick  in  soul. 
Who,  springing  from  the  noblest  hero-stock 

Of  all  the  Achaeans  strong, 
Abides  no  longer  in  his  native  mood, 

But  wanders  far  astray. 
O  wretched  father,  what  a  weight  of  woe, 

Thy  son's,  hast  thou  to  learn, 

Which  none  else  yet  has  borne, 
Of  all  the  high  Zeus-sprung  JEacldse. 

Plumptre. 

The  monologue  of  Ajax    just  before  his   death   is 
famous.     I  quote  the  last  part  of  it: 

Thou  Sun,  whose  chariot  in  the  heavens'  high  path 

Rides  on  in  glory,  when  thou  see'st  the  land 

Owned  by  my  fathers,  draw  thy  golden  reins, 

And  tell  all  these  my  sorrows,  and  my  doom. 

To  mine  old  father,  and  my  mother  lorn; 

Ah!  when  she  hears,  poor  wretch,  the  evil  news 

Through  all  the  city,  great  and  bitter  cries 

Will  issue  from  her  lips.     But  not  tor  me 

Is  time  for  vain  lament.     The  work  must  now 

Begin  more  swiftly.     Come  and  look  on  me, 

0  Death,  O  Death!  —and  yet  in  yonder  world 

1  shall  dwell  with  thee,  speak  enough  with  thee; 
And  Thee  I  call,  thou  light  of  golden  day. 
Thou  Sun,  who  drivest  on  thy  glorious  car. 
Thee,  for  this  last  time,  never  more  again. 

O  Light,  O  sacred  land  that  was  my  home; 
O  Salamis,  where  stands  my  father's  hearth. 
Thou  glorious  Athens,  with  thy  kindred  race; 


184  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Ye  streams  and  rivers  here  and  Troia's  plains. 
To  you  that  fed  my  life  I  bid  farewell; 
This  last,  last  word  does  Aias  speak  to  to  you; 
All  else  I  speak  in  Hades  to  the  dead. 

Plumptre. 

The  Electra^  of  uncertain  date,  is  on  the  same 
theme  as  the  Libation  Bearers  of  ^schylus — the  venge- 
ance of  Orestes  upon  Clytemnestra  and  JEgisthus. 
But  our  interest  is  now  centered  upon  Electra,  who 
remained  at  home  a  witness  to  her  mother's  shame  and 
the  object  of  humiliating  indignities.  She  bears  her 
afflictions  with  fortitude,  confident  of  the  return  of 
her  brother.  The  character  of  her  sister,  Chryso- 
themis — of  good  intentions  but  weak  and  timorous — 
is  an  admirable  foil  to  that  of  Electra.  The  plot  is 
enhanced  by  the  fact  that  the  recognition  of  Orestes 
by  Electra  is  postponed  until  just  before  the  death  of 
Clytemnestra.  Electra,  as  well  as  her  mother,  is 
deceived  by  the  report  of  his  death  brought  by  Orestes 
himself  and  Pylades,  disguised  as  strangers.  Electra's 
confidence  is  turned  for  a  while  to  the  deepest  despair, 
^gisthus  is  not  slain  until  he  has  uncovered  the  face 
of  the  dead  Clytemnestra,  thinking  to  see  the  features 
of  Orestes,  whose  death  would  mean  security  to  him — 
a  most  effective  situation,  full  of  the  tragic  irony^  for 
which  Sophocles  is  famous.  I  quote  a  portion  of  the 
lyrical  dialogue  which  takes  place  between  Electra 
and  the  chorus  of  Argive  maidens,  soon  after  the 
entrance  of  the  latter. 

'By  "tragic  irony"  we  mean  that  contrast  between  the  true  state  of 
things,  known  to  the  spectators,  and  the  fancied  state  in  which  a  character 
finds  himself,  so  that  his  words,  which  to  him  are  capable  of  only  one  con- 
struction, suggest  to  the  spectators  something  altogether  different.  When 
the  truth  is  revealed  the  character  learns  that  his  own  words  have  mocked 
him.  The  mockery  in  the  Electra  is  mostly  in  the  situation  itself.  The 
CEdipus  is  full  of  the  more  subtle  irony  of  language  applied  to  the  situation. 


Sophocles 


185 


Chor.  Not  unto  thee  alone, 

My  child,  of  those  that  live 

Have  grief  and  sorrow  come; 
Nor  sufferest  thou  aught  more  than  those  within 
With  whom  thou  sharest  home  and  kith  and  kin, 
Iphianassa  and  Chrysothemis; 
And  one  is  mourning  in  a  youth  obscure; 

Yet  happy,  too,  in  part. 
Whom  one  day  the  Mykenians'  glorious  land 
Shall  welcome  as  the  heir  of  noble  race, 

Coming  to  this  our  soil, 

As  sent  by  grace  of  Zeus, — 

Orestes,  come  at  last. 
Elec.    Ah!  him  I  wait  for  with  unwearied  hope. 

And  go,  ah!  piteous  fate! 

Childless,  unwedded  still; 

My  cheeks  are  wet  with  tears, 
And  still  I  bear  an  endless  doom  of  woe. 

And  he,  alas!  forgets 
All  he  has  met  with,  all  that  I  had  taught. 

What  message  goes  from  me 
That  is  not  mocked?     For  still  he  yearns  to  come, 

And  yet  he  deigneth  not, 
Yearn  though  he  may,  to  show  himself  to  us. 
Chor.    Take  heart,  my  child,  take  heart; 

Mighty  in  heaven  He  dwells, 

Zeus,  seeing,  guiding  all: 
Resign  to  him  the  wrath  that  vexes  sore. 
And  as  for  them,  the  foes  whom  thou  dost  hate, 
Nor  grieve  too  much,  nor  yet  forget  them  quite; 

Time  is  a  calm  and  patient  deity: 

For  neither  he  who  dwells 
Where  oxen  graze  on  far  Krisaean  shore. 
The  boy  who  sprang  from  Agamemnon's  loins, 

Lives  heedless  of  thy  woe; 

Nor  yet  the  god  who  reigns 

By  Acheron's  dark  shore. 
Elec.     And  yet  the  larger  portion  of  my  life 

Is  gone  without  a  hope. 

And  I  am  all  too  weak, 


1 86  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Who  waste  away  in  orphaned  loneliness, 

Whom  no  dear  husband  loves, 
But,  like  an  alien  stranger  in  the  house, 

I  do  my  task  unmeet, 
And  tend  the  chambers  where  my  father  dwelt, 

In  this  unseemly  guise, 
And  stand  at  tables  all  too  poorly  filled. 

Plumptre. 

Still  a  third  tragedy  takes  its  subject  from  the 
legends  of  the  Trojan  cycle — the  Philoctetes^  which 
won  the  first  prize  in  409  B.  C.  This  hero  was  bitten 
in  the  foot  by  a  snake  on  the  way  to  Troy.  The  wound 
became  so  noisome  and  the  cries  of  the  sufferer  so 
annoying  that,  at  the  instance  of  Odysseus,  Philoctetes 
was  abandoned  while  asleep  on  the  island  of  Lemnos. 
Nine  years  passed  and  Troy  had  not  fallen.  A  proph- 
ecy was  given  to  the  Greeks  that  Troy  would  never  be 
taken  except  by  the  son  of  Achilles,  and  with  the  bow 
of  Heracles.  Now  this  bow  had  been  bequeathed  by 
Heracles  to  Philoctetes.  So  the  Greeks  sent  Neopto- 
lemus,  Achilles'  son,  with  Odysseus  to  fetch  Philocte- 
tes and  the  bow.  When  the  play  opens  they  have  just 
landed  on  the  desolate  island.  Odysseus  instructs 
Neoptoiemus  how  to  entrap  Philoctetes  and  get  posses- 
sion of  the  bow  by  deceit.  The  noble  nature  of  the 
lad  revolts  against  such  tricks,  but  at  last  he  yields. 
Neoptoiemus  and  Philoctetes  meet.  The  hero 
implicitly  trusts  the  son  of  his  old  friend  Achilles,  and 
after  the  latter  has  promised  to  take  him  to  his  home, 
puts  the  bow  into  his  hands  during  a  paroxysm  of  pain. 
Touched  by  his  sufferings  Neoptoiemus  tells  him  the 
truth,  and  is  on  the  point  of  giving  back  the  bow  when 
Odysseus  arrives  and  leads  him  away,  since  Philoctetes 
stoutly   refuses    to   go    to    Troy   with    his   betrayers, 


Sophocles  187 

Again  the  noble  nature  of  Neoptolemus  asserts  itself. 
He  returns  in  spite  of  Odysseus'  threats  and  restores 
the  bow.  Heracles  appears  in  the  air  and  promises 
that  his  wound  will  be  healed.  The  sufferings  of 
Philoctetes  and  his  despair  at  the  loss  of  the  bow, 
his  only  means  of  obtaining  food  as  well  as  the  pre- 
cious relic  of  Heracles,  lend  pathos  to  the  subject, 
which,  however,  is  attractive  mainly  on  account  of  the 
noble  and  generous  character  of  Neoptolemus. 

The  Women  of  Trachis  (about  420  B.  C. ),  so  named 
from  its  chorus  of  maidens  from  the  village  of  Tra- 
chis, near  Thermopylae,  is  unlike  any  other  play  of 
Sophocles  in  that  the  passion  of  love  is  the  ruling 
motive.  The  character  of  the  heroine  is  exquisitely 
drawn — Deianeira,  wife  of  Heracles,  daughter  of 
CEneus,  king  of  ^tolia.  She  had  been  sought  in  mar- 
riage by  the  river-god  Achelous,  whom  Heracles  had 
conquered,  taking  Deianeira  as  his  bride.  The  centaur 
Nessus,  whom  Heracles  slew  on  their  journey  home, 
had  given  Deianeira  a  love-charm  wherewith  to  win 
back  her  husband's  love  should  he  prove  unfaithful. 
During  the  long  years  in  which  Heracles  was  perform- 
ing the  twelve  labors  she  had  not  used  it,  though  in 
his  protracted  absences  from  home  he  had  not  always 
remained  true  to  her.  When  the  play  opens  we  find 
Deianeira  and  her  children  at  Trachis,  driven  from 
Argos  by  fear  of  Eurystheus.  Heracles  had  been 
absent  for  fifteen  months,  nor  knew  she  where  he  was. 
But  he  had  told  her  before  leaving  of  an  oracle  which 
said  that  when  this  period  should  expire  he  should 
have  rest  from  troubles.  So  she  awaits  news  of  him 
with  increasing  anxiety.  Soon  a  train  of  captive 
women  appears,  at  their  head  Lichas,  a  trusted  serv- 


1 88  Homer  to  Theocritus 

ant  of  Heracles,  who  announces  the  hero's  speedy 
arrival.  Deianeira  is  filled  with  joy  until  she  learns 
that  the  most  beautiful  of  the  maidens  is  loved  by 
Heracles.  She  recalls  the  love-charm,  and  anointing 
a  rich  robe  with  it,  sends  it  to  her  husband  as  a  gift. 
When  he  put  it  on  it  burned  into  his  flesh — no  love- 
charm,  but  a  poison  designed  by  Nessus.  Deianeira, 
learning  the  result  of  her  act,  takes  her  own  life. 
Heracles  is  borne  in  on  a  litter,  wracked  with  torture, 
and  learning  how  his  suffering  was  caused,  recognizes 
the  fact  that  the  "rest  from  trouble"  promised  by  the 
oracle  meant  his  death.  The  first  ^horal  ode  is  of 
unusual  beauty: 

Thee  whom  the  starry  night, 

Beneath  the  spoiling  hand 

Breathing  her  last,  brings  forth, 

Whom  then  she  lays  to  sleep, — 
Thee,  Sun-god,  the  bright-burning,  I  implore  — 

O  tell  me  of  Alcmena's  son, 
O  thou,  whose  rays  are  as  the  lightning  bright: 

Where,  where  he  dwelleth  — 

Depths  of  the  ^gean  threading, 
Or  from  mid-straight  beholding  either  continent  — 

O  tell  me,  god  of  keenest  light! 

For  with  an  ever  hungry  heart,  they  say. 
Fair  Deianeira,  she  for  whom  the  suitors  strove, 
Like  some  unhappy  bird 
Lulls  never  into  tearless  sleep 
That  hunger  of  her  eyes; 
But  unforgetful  fear 
For  him,  her  absent  lord. 
She  entertaining,  pours 
Upon  her  widowed  couch  of  care  — 
Ill-starred,  forboding  all  distressful  chance. 


Sophocles  189 


For,  as  before  the  untiring  blast  of  south  or  north, 

Across  the  boundless  sea 

We  watch  the  march  of  waves 

That  come,  and  ever  come  — 
Even  so  upon  this  son  of  Cadmus's  fate  attends 

His  hard  life's  toilsomeness, 

Increasing  more  and  more, — 

Of  troubles  a  Cretan  sea. 

But  from  the  halls  of  death 

Some  god  restrains  his  feet, 

Suffering  them  not  to  stray. 

Therefore  I  chide  thee,  and  this  word 
Of  contradiction,  not  ungrateful,  I  will  speak: 
I  say  thou  dost  not  well 
To  kill  the  better  hope. 
For  think,  a  lot  exempt  from  pain 
The  son  of  Cronos,  king  who  governs  all, 

Ordained  not  for  men. 
To  all  men  sorrow  and  joy  alternate  come, 
Revolving,  as  in  heaven 
The  twisting  courses  of  the  Bear. 

For  neither  starry  night 
Abides  with  men,  nor  death,  nor  wealth  — 
But  quickly  is  it  gone: 
And  now  another  learns 
The  changeful  tale  of  joy  and  loss. 
Therefore  I  counsel  thee,  the  queen, 
To  keep  this  ever  in  thy  hopes: 
For  when  was  Zeus  so  careless  for  his  sons? 

Whitelaw. 

We  come  now  to  the  three  dramas  on  the  fate  of  the 
house  of  Labdacus,  conceded  to  be  the  masterpieces 
of  Sophocles — CEdipus  the  Kifig  (about  430  B.  C), 
CEdipusat  Colonus  (406  B.  C),  and  Antigone  (441  B.  C). 
These  three  plays  were  not  written  to  form  a  sequence, 
as  the  dates  will  show,  but  they  are  best  considered  in 
the  order  of  the  story  which   they  tell.      The   (Edipus 


190  Homer  to  Theocritus 

the  King,  the  greatest  work  of  our  poet  and  the  most 
perfect  tragedy  of  antiquity,  received  only  the  second 
prize  at  its  production.  The  scene  is  laid  at  Thebes, 
and  the  chorus  is  formed  of  Theban  elders.  (Edipus, 
after  delivering  Thebes  from  the  Sphinx  by  guessing 
her  riddle,  became  king  in  the  stead  of  Laius,  and 
married  his  wife,  Jocasta  (see  page  173).  Twenty 
years  have  passed  since  then.  A  pestilence  falls  upon 
the  city.  CEdipus  has  sent  to  Delphi  his  brother-in- 
law,  Creon,  to  inquire  of  the  oracle  of  Apollo  how  the 
pest  is  to  be  stayed.  Creon  reports  that  the  slayer  of 
Laius  must  be  found  and  punished.  CEdipus  zealously 
takes  this  duty  upon  himself.  He  makes  proclamation 
that  whoever  has  knowledge  of  the  deed  shall  declare . 
it,  and  that  the  murderer,  whoever  he  is,  shall  be 
treated  as  one  accursed,  barred  out  from  intercourse 
with  men  and  the  worship  of  the  gods.  He  bids  the 
prophet  Teiresias  reveal  the  guilty  one.  When  he 
refuses,  CEdipus  insults  and  threatens  him,  until  the 
prophet  in  anger  says:  ''Thou  art  the  accursed  defiler 
of  the  land."  CEdipus  indignantly  drives  Teiresias 
from  his  presence  for  forging  prophecies  in  the  interest 
of  Creon.  He  also  openly  accuses  Creon  of  conspir- 
ing for  the  throne.  Jocasta  strives  to  calm  her  hus- 
band by  illustrating  the  futility  of  prophecies;  it  was 
predicted  that  Laius  should  be  slain  by  his  son,  but 
a  robber  killed  him  where  three  roads  meet,  and  the 
son  was  exposed  upon  a  mountain.  This  revelation 
leads  to  anxious  inquiries  on  the  part  of  CEdipus.  The 
circumstances  of  Laius'  death  remind  him  of  a  similar 
encounter  in  which  he  had  slain  a  man;  but  it  was 
a  robber  band  that  slew  Laius.  A  messenger  from 
Corinth   enters   announcing    the   death    of    the    king, 


Sophocles  191 

Polybus,  whom  GEdipus  believes  to  be  his  father.  The 
oracle  that  CEdipus  shall  slay  his  father  is  false,  but 
he  will  not  return  to  claim  the  throne  of  Corinth  lest 
the  other  part  of  the  oracle,  that  he  should  wed  his 
own  mother,  should  yet  be  fulfilled.  The  messenger 
reassures  him  by  telling  him  that  he  is  not  the  son  of 
Polybus,  but  was  found  upon  a  mountain  when  a  babe, 
his  feet  pierced  with  thongs.  Jocasta  sees  the  horrible 
truth  and  begs  her  husband  to  question  no  further. 
She  enters  the  palace  and  takes  her  own  life.  Mean- 
while CEdipus  pushes  his  inquiries.  From  a  herdsman 
who  is  brought  in  the  confession  is  wrung  that  the 
babe  found  on  the  mountain  and  taken  to  Corinth  was 
the  son  of  Laius.  CEdipus  rushes  in  despair  into  the 
palace,  and  seeing  the  dead  body  of  his  mother  and 
wife,  Jocasta,  tears  out  his  eyes.  The  tragedy  closes 
with  the  pathetic  farewell  of  CEdipus  and  his  daughters. 
It  is  difficult  to  quote  from  a  drama  like  this,  so 
closely  knit  together  that  every  portion  is  essential  to 
the  whole.  Step  by  step  the  proud  king,  conscious  of 
his  own  innocence,  yet  arrogant  and  guilty  of  having 
tried  to  evade  Apollo's  oracle,  probes  into  the  secret 
of  his  own  horrible  crimes.  The  gradual  unraveling 
of  the  terrible  secret  keeps  the  mind  of  the  spectators 
constantly  on  the  rack  with  conflicting  emotions.  Our 
sympathy  with  the  unhappy  prince,  so  eager  to  accom- 
plish the  work  of  justice  at  whatever  cost,  rises  to 
admiration  when,  his  spirit  broken  and  his  life  ruined, 
he  nobly  resolves  to  live  and  does  not  forget  his 
country  and  his  children.  The  following  ode  illus- 
trates Sophocles'  treatment  of  the  chorus.  A  suspicion 
has  arisen  of  the  guilt  of  CEdipus,  and  he  has  treated 
Creon     with     inexcusable     arrogance.      The     chorus 


192  Homer  to  Theocritus 

breathes  a  prayer  for  purity  in   word   and  deed,  and 
deprecates  the  pride  and  insolence  of  kings. 

Mine  be  it,  mine  to  hold, 
With  destiny  to  aid,  the  deathless  sanctity 

In  words  and  actions  manifold, 
Whereof  the  laws  do  live  and  move  on  high, 

Set  in  eternal  spheres, 
Born  in  the  bright  expanse  of  upper  sky; 
Birth  of  the  high  God,  not  of  mortal  years, 

Nor  unto  dull  oblivion  a  prey: 
Strong,  ageless  deity  is  theirs,  and  waneth  not  away. 

The  child  of  earthly  pride 
Is  tyranny,  when  once  man's  life  doth  teem 
With  wealth  too  great  to  profit  or  beseem. 

Up,  by  a  path  untried. 
Up  to  the  crowning  peak  of  bliss 
She  climbs,  then  headlong  down  the  sheer  abyss 

Helpless  she  sinks  to  the  unfooted  void! 
Yet  unto  God  I  pray  that  he  may  ne'er  annul 
Man's  strife  that  man's  estate  be  honoured  to  the  full. 
God  is  my  help;  to  him  my  faith  clings  undestroyed. 

But  if  a  man,  in  deed  or  word. 

Walks  o'er-informed  with  pride  and  might, 

By  fe^ir  of  justice  undeterred. 

Scorning  the  seats  of  deity, 

111  doom,  to  that  man  drawing  nigh, 

His  ill-starred  arrogance  requite! 

Unless  toward  his  proper  gain 

With  uncorrupted  hand  he  strain, 

Unless  he  loathe  all  filthiness, 
If  with  lewd  hands  he  touch  the  grace  of  holiness! 
Henceforth,  if  such  things  be,  no  mortal  evermore 

Can  from  his  life  repel 
The  darts  of  heaven  and  boast  that  foiled  they  fell: 

If  he  who  walks  such  ways 
Deserve  man's  honour  and  his  praise, 
Wherefore  with  holy  dance  should  I  the  Gods  adore? 

Morshead. 


Sophocles  193 

The  truth  as  regards  the  parentage  of  CEdipus  is 
revealed  in  this  conversation  between  the  King,  the 
Corinthian  Messenger,  and  the  Herdsman.  This  pas- 
sage is  a  good  example  of  the  line-for-line  dialogue 
with  which  Greek  tragedy  abounds: 

Me.  Say  then,  dost  thou  recall  that  unto  me 

A  child  thou  gavest  for  my  fosterling? 

He.  What  say'st  thou?   wherefore  askest  thou  of  this? 

Me.  {Pointing  to  CEdipus.)    Good  sir,  there  standeth  he  that 

was  that  child. 

He,  Hell  silence  thee!   wilt  thou  not  hold  thy  peace? 

(Ed.  Peace,  old  man,  chide  him  not  —  these  words  of  thine, 

More  than  his  tale,  deserve  a  chastener. 

He.  Wherein,  most  goodly  lord,  do  I  offend? 

CEd.  Avowing  not  the  child  of  yhom  he  asks. 

He.  He  speaks  sans  knowledge,  frets  himself  in  vain. 

CEd.  Thou  wilt  not  speak  with  grace,  thou  shalt  with  tears 

He.  For  God's  sake,  wrong  me  not,  for  I  am  old. 

CEd.  Ho,  bind  him,  bind  his  arms  behind  his  back. 

He.  Wherefore,  O  hapless  man?  what  more  wouldst  learn? 

CEd.  Didst  give  to  him  the  child  of  whom  he  asks? 

He.  I  gave  it  —  would  that  I  had  died  that  day! 

CEd.  This  day  thou  diest,  if  thou  hide  the  truth. 

He.  Yet  I  die  doubly,  if  I  hide  it  not. 

CEd.  Methinks  he  driveth  yet  at  more  delay. 

He.  Nay,  nay  —  I  have  owned  that  I  gave  the  child. 

CEd.  Whence  having  it?   another's  or  thine  own? 

He.  Mine  it  was  not;  but  by  another  given. 

CEd.  By  whom  in  Thebes,  from  what  home,  high  or  low? 

He.  For  heaven's  sake,  O  my  master,  ask  no  more. 

CEd.  Thou  art  but  dead,  if  I  shall  ask  again. 

He.  God  help  —  it  was  a  child  of  Laius'  house. 

OEd.  a  slave-child,  or  in  his  own  lineage  born? 

He.  Woe's  me  —  in  speech  I  stand  on  horror's  verge. 

CEd.  And  I  in  hearing:  natheless  I  must  hear. 

He.  Know  then,  his  own  child  it  was  said  to  be, 

Go,  ask  thy  queen  within;  she  best  can  say. 

CEd.  Was  it  she  gave  it  thee?    He.    It  was,  O  king. 


194  Homer  to  Theocritus 

CEd.    And  for  what  end?    He.  That  I  should  quench  its  life. 
(Ed.    So  hard  a  mother?    He.   By  ill  presage  scared. 
CEd.    What  presage?    He.  That  the  child  should  slay  his  sire. 
CEd.    Then  why  unto  this  graybeard  didst  thou  give  it? 
He.     My  lord,  I  pitied  it,  and  deemed  that  he 

Would  bear  it  hence  away  to  his  own  land. 

He  saved  it,  well-a-day,  for  sorrow's  crown. 

For  if  thou  art  the  child  of  whom  he  tells. 

Be  well  assured  thou  wert  to  ill  fate  born. 
CEd.    Woe,  woe  upon  me!  all  the  issue  clear  — 

Light,  be  thou  dark  to  me  for  evermore! 

Cursed  in  my  birth,  and  in  my  marriage  cursed, 

And  cursed  in  blood-shedding  I  stand  revealed! 

\He  rushes  into  the  palace. 
Morshead. 

CEdipus  resigned  thQ  throne  to  Creon  after  his 
unwitting  crimes  had  been  found  out,  and  desired  to 
leave  Thebes  forever,  but  the  oracle  forbade.  But 
when  his  sons  had  grown  to  manhood, ^hey  and  Creon 
cruelly  thrust  him  forth,  an  outcast.  Antigone 
attended  him  in  his  long  wanderings  as  a  beggar,  but 
Ismene  stayed  at  home.  When  the  CEdipus  at  Colonus 
opens  they  have  reached  a  grove  at  Colonus,  near 
Athens,  where  they  stop  to  rest.  Warned  by  the 
citizens  of  the  village,  who  form  the  chorus,  that  they 
stand  upon  holy  ground  sacred  to  the  Furies,  CEdipus 
recalls  that  the  oracle  had  predicted  that  he  should 
end  his  life  here.  Theseus,  king  of  Athens,  sum- 
moned by  CEdipus,  extends  the  protection  of  the  city 
to  the  wanderers.  Ismene  arrives  from  Thebes  with 
news  of  the  quarrel  of  Eteocles  and  Polyneices.  Soon 
Creon  comes  to  take  CEdipus  back  to  Thebes,  since  his 
presence  is  necessary  to  the  safety  of  the  city.  In 
the  struggle  that  follows  Antigone  and  Ismene  are 
carried  off,  but  Theseus  rescues  them  and  drives  Cleon 


•  Sophocles  195 

back.  Polyneices  comes  to  supplicate  his  father  for 
aid,  but  is  sternly  dismissed.  Then,  in  an  impressive 
scene,  CEdipus  enters  the  sacred  grove  and  is  miracu- 
lously translated  amid  thunder  and  lightning.  The 
play  is  unsurpassed  in  beauty  and  in  tenderness  of  feel- 
ing. The  peaceful  and  glorious  death  of  the  unhappy 
CEdipus  seems  but  a  fitting  close  to  a  life  so  noble  and 
yet  so  full  of  sorrows.  The  most  beautiful  choral 
passage  is  the  famous  ode  to  Colonus,  the  village  birth- 
place of  the  poet: 

Of  all  the  land  far-famed  for  goodly  steeds, 
Thou  com'st,  O  stranger,  to  the  noblest  spot, 

Colonus,  glistening  bright, 
Where  evermore,  in  thickets  freshly  green, 

The  clear-voiced  nightingale 

Still  haunts,  and  pours  her  song, 

By  purpling  ivy  hid. 
And  the  thick  leafage  sacred  to  the  god, 

With  all  its  myriad  fruits, 

By  mortal's  foot  untouched, 

By  sun's  hot  ray  unscathed, 

Sheltered  from  every  blast; 
There  wanders  Dionysos  evermore, 

In  full,  wild  revelry, 
And  waits  upon  the  Nymphs  who  nursed  his  youth. 

And  there,  beneath  the  gentle  dews  of  heaven, 
The  fair  narcissus,  with  its  clustered  bells, 

Blooms  ever,  day  by  day. 
Of  old  the  wreaths  of  mightiest  goddesses; 

And  crocus  golden-eyed; 

And  still  unslumbering  flow 

Kephisos'  wandering  streams; 
They  fail  not  from  their  spring,  but  evermore, 

Swift-rushing  into  birth. 

Over  the  plain  they  sweep. 

The  land  of  broad,  full  breast. 

With  clear  and  stainless  wave: 


196  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Nor  do  the  Muses  in  their  minstrel  choirs 

Hold  it  in  slight  esteem, 
Nor  Aphrodite  with  her  golden  reins. 

And  in  it  grows  a  marvel  such  as  ne'er 

On  Asia's  soil  I  heard, 
Nor  the  great  Dorian  isle  from  Pelops  named, 

A  plant  self  sown,  that  knows 

No  touch  of  withering  age, 

Terror  of  hostile  swords, 

Which  here  on  this  our  ground 

Its  high  perfection  gains. 
The  grey-green  foliage  of  the  olive-tree, 

Rearing  a  goodly  race: 

And  never  more  shall  man, 

Or  young  or  bowed  with  years, 

Give  forth  the  fierce  command 

And  lay  it  low  in  dust. 

For  lo!  the  eye  of  Zeus, 

Zeus  of  our  olive  groves, 

That  sees  eternally, 

Casteth  i"s  jlance  thereon, 
And  she,  Athena,  with  the  clear,  grey  eyes. 

And  yet  another  praise  is  mine  to  sing. 

Gift  of  the  mighty  God, 
To  this  our  city,  mother  of  us  all. 

Her  greatest,  noblest  boast, 

Famed  for  her  goodly  steeds, 

Famed  for  her  bounding  colts, 

Famed  for  her  sparkling  sea. 
Poseidon,  son  of  Kron  s,  Lord  and  King, 

To  Thee  this  boas'  we  owe, 

For  first  in  these  our  streets 

Thou  to  the  untamed  h-^rse 

Didst  use  the  con-'U'^ring  bit: 

And  here  the  well-shaped  oar, 

By  skilled  hands  deftly  plied, 


Sophocles  197 

Still  leapeth  through  the  sea, 
Following  in  wondrous  guise 
The  fair  Nereids  with  their  hundred  feet. 

Plumptre. 

After  the  death  of  OEdipus,  Antigone  and  Ismene 
returned  to  Thebes.  The  seven  chieftains  of  Argos, 
Polyneices  at  their  head,  came  against  the  city,  and 
the  two  brothers  perished  by  each  other's  hands. 
Creon  was  made  king.  He  decreed  that  Eteocles 
should  be  buried  with  due  honor,  but  that  the  body  of 
Polyneices  should  lie  unburied,  the  offender  against 
this  decree  to  be  stoned  to  death.  At  this  point  the 
action  of  the  Antigone  begins.  Antigone,  setting  the 
divine  law  above  the  edict  of  man,  resolves  to  bury 
her  brother.  Ismene  in  vain  tries  to  dissuade  her. 
Creon  has  no  sooner  made  his  solemn  proclamation 
than  a  messenger  reports  that  the  decree  has  been 
violated.  Soon  Antigone  is  led  in  by  the  guard,  and 
boldly  defends  her  course  to  Cleon.  Ismene  would 
share  her  sister's  fate,  but  Antigone  refuses.  The 
king's  son,  Haemon,  to  whom  Antigone  is  betrothed, 
pleads  for  her  life  in  vain.  Antigone  is  led  away  to 
be  immured  alive.  The  prophet  Teiresias  warns  Cleon 
that  he  and  the  city  shall  suffer,  but  Cleon  cannot  be 
moved  from  what  he  arrogantly  assumes  to  be  the 
course  of  justice.  Haemon,  cursing  his  father  to  his 
face,  slays  himself  over  the  body  of  Antigone,  who  has 
taken  her  own  life.  At  the  news  of  her  son's  death 
the  queen  also  takes  her  own  life,  cursing  her  husband. 
Creon,  plunged  into  desperate  grief  and  admitting 
his  fault,  is  led  away,  praying  for  death.  In  this 
noble  tragedy,  for  the  understanding  of  which  a  mere 
outline  is  quite  inadequate,  the  character  of  Antigone 


198  Homer  to  Theocritus 

is  made  to  stand  out  in  bold  relief  above  the  others. 
Symonds  calls  her  "the  most  perfect  female  character 
in  Greek  poetry."  It  is  notable  that  Sophocles  does 
not  accept  the  opportunity  which  his  plot  offered  to 
temper  her  hard  and  resolute  character  by  emphasiz- 
ing her  love  for  Haemon.  Loyalty  to  duty  overrules 
all  sentiment. 


CHAPTER    IX 

EURIPIDES 

Euripides  —  His  Position  in  Attic  Tragedy  —  His  Popularity 
and  Influence  —  The  A /testis  —  The  Medea  —  The  Hippo- 
lytus  —  The  Trojan  Plays:  iphigeneia  at  Aulis,  iphigeneia 
among  the  Taurians,  Orestes,  Electra,  Trojan  Women, 
Hecabe,  Andromache,  Helen  —  The  Theban  Plays:  Phoe- 
nician Women,  Suppliants  —  The  Children  of  Heracles  — 
The  Heracles  —  The  Ion  —  The  Bacchanals. 

Euripides  was  born  in  485  B.  C.  on  the  island  of 
Salamis.  He  received  a  liberal  education  under  expen- 
sive teachers.  It  is  said  that  he  was  first  a  profes- 
sional athlete  and  subsequently  a  painter.  We  are 
told  also  that  he  was  unhappily  married,  and  his 
domestic  relations  are  a  topic  for  scandalous  gossip 
in  the  comic  poets.  The  ancients  attributed  to  this 
fact  in  his  life  the  many  bitter  sayings  about  women 
that  are  found  in  his  tragedies.  They  called  him 
a  woman-hater;  and  yet  he  portrays  with  exquisite 
tenderness  and  grace  the  affectionate,  self-sacrificing 
wife,  the  devoted  mother,  and  noble,  pure,  high- 
minded  maidenhood.  His  first  play  was  brought  out 
in  455  B.  C,  at  the  age  of  thirty.  Of  the  ninety  odd 
plays  which  he  wrote  eighteen  survive,  one  of  which, 
the  Cyclops^  is  the  only  extant  specimen  of  the  satyr- 
drama.  Another  tragedy,  the  Rhesus^  which  is  con- 
tained in  the  manuscripts  of  Euripides,  is  believed  to 
be  a  work  of  the  fourth  century.  Euripides  was  only 
moderately  successful  in  the  competitions,  his  victories 

199 


200  Homer  to  Theocritus  1 

at  both  festivals  amounting  to  fifteen,  as  against  the 
twenty-eight  of  ^schylus  and  the  twenty-four  of 
Sophocles.  He  died  in  406  B.  C.  in  Macedonia,  where 
the  last  years  of  his  life  had  been  spent  at  the  court 
of  the  king  Archelaus. 

Euripides  was  distinctly  the  representative  poet  of 
the  last  part  of  the  fifth  century.  Since  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Athenian  Empire  great  changes  had  come 
over  the  spirit  of  the  Athenian  people.  Imperialism 
had  brought  in  its  train  a  revolution  in  social  life>- 
a  higher  plane  of  living,  an  eagerness  for  advanced  or 
novel  views  on  ethics  and  religion,  a  larger  interest 
in  political  affairs.  After  the  death  of  Pericles  the 
populace  was  all-powerful,  and  the  success  of  the 
demagogue  quickened  the  desire  of  the  people  for 
the  new  education,  which  was  eminently  "practical,'^ 
great  stress  being  laid  upon  the  specious  rhetoric  by 
which  the  worse  cause  was  made  to  seem  the  better. 
The  audience  in  the  theatre  now  took  less  delight  than 
formerly  in  the  old-fashioned  presentation  of  the  old 
doctrines  of  religion  as  exemplified  in  the  figures  of 
mythology.  They  demanded  striking  scenes,  clever 
reasoning,  splendid  oratory,  harrowing  situations,  bril- 
liant musical  effects.  If  a  poet  could  present  a  well- 
worn  subject  in  a  novel  way,  either  by  introducing 
subtle  dramatic  devices  or  by  reshaping  the  myth,  so 
much  the  better.  Sophocles  conceded  not  a  little  to 
this  tendency  of  the  times,  but  always  maintained  the 
lofty  ideal  of  the  tragic  art  which  /Eschylus  had 
bequeathed.  But  Euripides  was  the  very  embodiment 
of  the  spirit  of  his  age.  A  consummate  playwright, 
he  employed  every  dramatic  and  theatrical  means  to 
gain  the  desired  effects,  even  sacrificing  the  harmony 


.  Euripides  201 

of  the  whole  to  the  beauty  and  effectiveness  of  the 
parts.  Though  he  rarely  rises  to  the  sublime  heights 
of  ^Eschylus,  and  though  his  tragedies  are  not  always 
perfect  works  of  art,  like  those  of  Sophocles,  there  is 
no  doubt  that  they  "staged"  well. 

A  keen  observer  of  the  men  and  women  about  him, 
Euripides  paints  men  as  they  are,  while  Sophocles 
paints  them  as  they  should  be.^  Indeed  he  seems  to  1 
have  been  too  bold  an  innovator  even  for  his  own  l 
time,  if  we  may  judge  by  the  criticisms  of  Aristopha- 
nes. His  popularity  with  the  masses,  however,  is 
conceded  by  the  comic  poet,  and  is  attested  by  the 
interesting  fact  that  many  of  the  Athenian  prisoners 
taken  by  the  Syracusans  in  411  B.  C.  were  given  their 
liberty  because  they  were  able  to  recite  from  his  plays.^ 
In  the  fourth  century  he  was  easily  the  most  popular 
of  the  three  master  poets,  and  his  tragedies  maintained 
themselves  upon  the  stage  well  into  the  Christian  era. 
His  influence  upon  the  later  comedy  was  marked. 
The  comic  poet  Philemon  said:  "If  the  dead,  as  some 
assert,  have  really  consciousness,  then  would  I  hang 
myself  to  see  Euripides."  Euripides  served  the 
Roman  poets  as  a  model  far  more  than  either  ^schy- 
lus  or  Sophocles,  and  through  this  medium  he  became  ^^ 
the  father  of  the  classical  tragedy  in  France.  He 
appeals  strongly  to  the  average  reader  of  to-day 
because  he  seems,  relatively,  so  modern.  His  charac- 
ters are  generally  less  heroic  than  those  of  his  pre- 
decessors, and  therefore  less  remote.  They  exhibit 
the  passions  and  weaknesses  of  ordinary  mortals,  and 

*  A  criticism  attributed  to  Sophocles  himself,  contrasting  his  own  "  ideal- 
ism "  with  the  "  realism  "  of  his  rival. 

^Robert  Browning  makes  use  of  this  story  in  the  framework  of  hi* 
transcription  of  the  Alcestis  in  Balaustton's  Adventure. 


1 

i 
202  Homer  to  Theocritus  1 

j 
are  not  merely  instruments  for  revealing  the  workings^ 
of  divine  law.  His  qualities  as  a  poet  are  summed; 
up  in  the  language  of  an  enthusiastic  admirer,  Mrs.  I 
Browning:  | 

Our  Euripides  the  Human  -\ 

With  his  droppings  of  warm  tears,  1 

And  his  touches  of  things  common  ] 

Till  they  rose  to  touch  the  spheres.  1 

The  earliest  extant  play  is  the  Alcestis^  produced  in! 
438  B.  C.  The  victory  was  won  by  Sophocles,  Euripi-^ 
des  gaining  second  place.  The  Alcestis  was  the  fourth' 
drama  in  the  tetralogy,  taking  the  place  of  the  usuall 
satyr-drama.  The  subject  is  the  voluntary  death  ofj 
Alcestis  in  place  of  her  husband,  Admetus,  king  ofi 
Pherse,  in  Thessaly.  Apollo,  who  had  kept  Admetus'j 
flocks,  condemned  for  a  fault  to  serve  a  mortal  fori 
a  time,  loved  his  former  master,  and  promised  to  per-i 
suade  the  Fates  to  accept  a  substitute  when  the  hour^ 
of  death  should  come.  The  fated  day  arrives.  None; 
but  Alcestis  will  consent  to  die  that  Admetus  may) 
live.  She  bids  farewell  to  her  home  and  children,! 
dies,  and  is  borne  forth  to  burial.  But  Heracles,  who! 
has  come  as  a  guest  to  the  house  of  Admetus,  learnsj 
the  misfortune  that  has  befallen  his  host,  and  goesi 
forth  to  rescue  Alcestis  from  Death.  After  a  struggle; 
Alcestis  is  delivered  and  restored  to  her  home.] 
I  quote  the  farewell  of  Alcestis  as  reported  by  herj 
maid  -}  \ 

For  when  she  knew  the  fatal  day  was  come,  : 

She  bathed  in  river  water  her  white  flesh,  i 

»This  and  the  two  following  passages  are  quoted  from  Three  Dramas  of; 
Euripides  by  permission  of  the  author,  Mr.  William  Cranston  Lawton,  and| 
his  publishers,  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.  \ 


Euripides  203 

And  from  her  chests  of  cedar  choosing  forth 

Raiment  and  ornament  she  decked  her  fair, 

And  standing  prayed  before  the  hearthstone  thus: 

"O  Goddess,  —  for  I  pass  beneath  the  earth, — 

Here  at  the  last,  a  suppliant,  I  entreat 

Rear  thou  my  children,  and  on  him  bestow 

A  loving  wife,  on  her  a  noble  spouse. 

And  may  they  not,  as  I  their  mother  die, 

Untimely  fall,  but  in  their  native  land, 

And  fortunate,  fill  out  a  happy  life." 

And  all  the  shrines  throughout  Admetos'  halls 

She  sought  and  decked  with  boughs,  and  prayed  thereto. 

Breaking  the  foliage  of  the  myrtle  twigs. 

Nor  wept,  nor  groaned;  the  sorrow  near  at  hand 

Changed  not  the  lovely  color  of  her  face. 

Then  hastened  to  her  marriage-chamber  and  bed; 

There  she  indeed  shed  tears,  and  thus  she  spoke: 

"O  couch,  where  I  put  off  my  maiden  zone 

For  this  my  husband,  for  whose  sake  I  die. 

Farewell.     I  hate  thee  not:  thou  hast  destroyed 

Me  only;  slow  to  leave  my  spouse  and  thee 

I  die.    To  thee  another  wife  will  come. 

Not  truer,  though  perhaps  more  fortunate." 

And  knelt,  and  kissed,  and  with  the  gushing  tears 

That  from  her  eyelids  fell  the  bed  was  moist. 

When  she  was  sated  with  her  many  tears. 
In  headlong  haste  she  hurried  from  the  spot. 
But  often  turned  her  as  she  left  the  room. 
And  darted  toward  her  nuptial  couch  once  more. 
Her  children  clinging  to  the  mother's  robe. 
Were  weeping;  taking  in  her  arms  she  kissed 
The  two  in  turn,  as  though  about  to  die. 
And  all  the  servants  wept  throughout  the  halls, 
Pitying  their  mistress;  and  she  gave  her  hand 
To  every  one;  not  one  was  there  so  base 
But  she  did  greet  him,  and  by  him  was  hailed. 

In  a  beautiful  ode  the  chorus-  celebrates  the  terrible 
might  of  Necessity: 


204  Homer  to  Theocritus 

High  aloft  have  I  been  lifted 

On  the  poets'  wings  of  song; 

Many  sages'  words  have  studied; 

Nothing  have  I  known  or  found  ,      ' 

Mightier  than  Necessity. 

Neither  in  the  Thracian  tablets 

By  the  Orphic  voice  recorded, 

Nor  in  all  the  drugs  that  Phoibos  to  Asclepios'  children  gave, 

Is  a  cure  to  break  her  power  for  the  troubled  sons  of  men. 

She  alone  hath  neither  altars 

Nor  an  image  to  adore. 

Offerings  she  regardeth  never. 

Come  not,  Goddess,  in  my  life, 

Sterner  than  now  thou  art  to  me; 

For  whatever  Zeus  decreeth 

Is  fulfilled  with  thy  assistance; 

Even  the  Chalybean  iron  thou  subduest  in  thy  might, 

And  thy  unrelenting  spirit  knoweth  not  regret  or  shame. 

The  Medea  was  brought  out  in  431  B.  C,  receiving 
the  last  place,  although  it  is  recognized  as  one  of  the 
most  powerful  of  the  tragedies  of  Euripides.  Medea 
was  the  princess  of  Colchis,  who,  for  love  of  Jason, 
helped  him  by  her  magic  arts  to  win  the  golden  fleece 
in  quest  Of  which  he  and  the  Argonauts  had  sailed. 
She  fled  with  him  to  Greece  as  his  wife.  But  Jason 
has  abandoned  her  for  the  daughter  of  the  king  of 
Corinth.  In  her  jealousy  Medea  causes  the  death 
of  her  rival,  slays  the  children  whom  she  had  borne  to 
Jason,  and  makes  her  escape  through  the  air  on  an 
enchanted  car.  The  following  passage,  addressed  by 
Medea  to  the  Corinthian  maidens  who  compose  the 
chorus,  reflects,  indeed,  the  position  of  woman  in 
Athenian  society  in  the  fifth  century,  but  might  almost 
have  been  uttered  by  a  woman  of  to-day,  so  well  does 
Euripides  understand  womankind: 


Euripides  205 

This  trouble  unforeseen  befalling  me 
Has  crushed  my  soul;  and  since  the  grace  of  life 
Is  wholly  lost,  I  long  to  perish,  friends. 
For  he  who  was  my  all, —  I  know  it  well, — 
My  husband,  is  revealed  most  base  of  men. 

Of  all  created  things  endowed  with  soul 
And  sense,  we  women  are  the  wretchedest. 
Who,  first,  with  overplus  of  gold  must  buy 
Our  lord,  and  take  a  master  to  ourselves. 
This  is  an  evil  even  worse  than  ill. 
And  then  the  risk  is  great,  if  he  we  take 
Be  base  or  good.     No  honorable  release 
Have  women,  nor  may  we  disown  our  lord. 
Entered  on  novel  ways  and  customs,  each 
Must  needs  divine,  if  she  has  never  learned, 
How  it  is  best  to  live  with  him  she  weds. 

And  if,  while  we  are  toiling  faithfully, 
The  husband  is  not  chafing  at  the  yoke, 
Our  life  is  enviable:  else,  death  is  best. 
A  man,  when  vexed  with  those  within  his  home, 
Goes  forth,  and  frees  his  heart  of  weariness, 
Betaking  him  to  comrades,  or  a  friend: 
While  we  may  look  but  to  one  single  soul. 

They  say  we  live  at  home  a  life  secure 
From  danger,  wiiile  they  struggle  with  the  spear. 
A  foolish  thought!     I  thrice  would  choose  to  stand 
Beside  my  shield,  ere  once  to  bear  a  child. 

But  the  same  words  suit  not  myself  and  thee. 
Thou  hast  a  city  and  a  father's  house, 
A  happy  life  and  dear  companionship. 
I,  lonely,  homeless,  by  my  husband  scorned. 
From  a  barbarian  land  as  booty  led. 
Have  not  a  mother,  brother,  no,  nor  kin, 
With  whom  to  seek  a  haven  from  these  ills. 

This  much  I  wish  I  may  obtain  from  thee; 
If  any  means  or  plan  by  me  be  found 
To  avenge  these  wrongs  on  Jason,  on  the  girl 
He  has  wedded,  and  the  sire  who  gave  him  her, 
Speak  not!     A  woman  else  is  full  of  fear, 


2o6  Homer  to  Theocritus  ] 

Nor  dares  to  look  on  violence  and  arms: 

But  if  it  chance  her  marriage-bed  is  wronged, 

There  is  no  soul  more  murderous  than  hers. 

The  conflicting  passions  of  love  and  jealousy  are ; 
wonderfully  depicted  in  this  passage — the  monologue 
of  Medea  just  before  she  slays  her  children:  i 

O  sons,  my  sons,  for  you  there  is  a  home 

And  city  where,  forsaking  wretched  me, 

Ye  shall  still  dwell  and  have  no  mother  more; 

But  I,  an  exile,  seek  another  land, 

Ere  I  have  joyed  in  you  and  seen  you  glad,  .; 

Ere  I  have  decked  for  you  the  nuptial  pomp, 

The  bride,  the  bed,  and  held  the  torch  aloft.  j 

Ah  me!  forlorn  by  my  untempered  moods!  \ 

In  vain  then  have  I  nurtured  ye,  my  sons. 

In  vain  have  toiled  and  been  worn  down  by  cares, 

And  felt  the  hard  child-bearing  agonies. 

There  was  a  time  when  I,  unhappy  one, 

Had  many  hopes  in  you,  that  both  of  you 

Would  cherish  me  in  age;  and  that  your  hands, 

When  I  am  dead,  would  fitly  lay  me  out— 

That  wish  of  all  men;  but  now  lost  indeed 

Is  that  sweet  thought,  for  I  must,  reft  of  you. 

Live  on  a  piteous  life  and  full  of  pain; 

And  ye,  your  dear  eyes  will  no  more  behold 

Your  mother,  gone  into  your  new  strange  life. 

Alas!  why  do  you  fix  your  eyes  on  me,  ■ 

My  sons?    Why  smile  ye  on  me  that  last  smile?  j 

Alas!  what  must  I  do?  for  my  heart  faints, 

Thus  looking  on  my  children's  happy  eyes. 

Women,  I  cannot.     Farewell  my  past  resolves: 

My  boys  go  forth  with  me.     What  boots  it  me 

To  wrong  their  father  with  their  cruel  fates,  ' 

And  earn  myself  a  double  misery? 

It  shall  not  be,  shall  not.     Farewell  resolves!  — 

And  yet  what  mood  is  this?     Am  I  content 

To  spare  my  foes  and  be  a  laughing-stock? 

It  must  be  dared.     Why,  out  upon  my  weakness, 


Euripides  aoy 


To  let  such  coward  thought  steal  from  my  heart! 
Go,  children,  to  the  house:  and  he  who  lacks 
Right  now  to  stand  by  sacrifice  of  mine 
Let  him  look  to  it.     I'll  not  stay  my  hand. 

Alas!  alas! 
No,  surely,  O  my  heart,  thou  canst  not  do  it! 
Racked  heart,  let  them  go  safely:  spare  the  boys. 
Living  far  hence  with  me  they'll  make  thee  joy. 
No:  by  the  avenging  demon  gods  in  hell, 
Never  shall  be  that  I  shall  yield  my  boys 
To  the  despitings  of  mine  enemies! 
For  all  ways  they  must  die,  and  since  'tis  so, 
Better  I  slay  them,  I  who  gave  them  birth. 
All  ways  'tis  fated;  there  is  no  escape. 
For  now,  in  the  robes,  the  wealth  upon  her  head, 
The  royal  bride  is  perishing.     I  know  it. 
But  since  I  go  on  so  forlorn  a  journey, 
And  them  too  send  on  one  yet  more  forlorn, 
I'd  fain  speak  with  my  sons.     Give  me,  my  children. 
Give  your  mother  your  right  hands  to  clasp  to  her. 
O  darling  hands!     O  dearest  lips  to  me! 
O  forms  and  noblest  faces  of  my  boys! 
Be  happy:  but  there.    For  of  all  part  here 
Your  father  has  bereft  you.     O  sweet  kiss! 
O  grateful  breath  and  soft  skin  of  my  boys! 
Go,  go;  I  can  no  longer  look  on  you, 
But  by  my  sufferings  am  overborne. 
Oh,  I  do  know  what  sorrows  I  shall  make; 
But  anger  keeps  the  mastery  of  my  thoughts. 
Which  is  the  chiefest  cause  of  human  woes. 

Mrs.  Webster. 

The  Hippolytus,  crowned  with  the  first  prize  in  428 
B.  C,  is  not  only  one  of  the  best  tragedies  of  Euripi- 
des, considered  as  a  work  of  art,  but  is  of  unique 
interest  as  the  first  extant  Greek  play  in  which  the  X 
passion  of  love  is  the  chief  motive.  The  hero, 
Hippolytus,   was   the   son   of  Theseus,   the  legendary 


2o8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

founder  of  Athens,  by  his  union  with  the  Amazon 
queen  Hippolyta.  He  grew  up  to  manhood  in  purity, 
paying  worship  to  the  chaste  goddess  Artemis,  the 
huntress,  and  disdaining  Aphrodite.  Aphrodite  is 
resolved  to  punish  him.  She  therefore  puts  into  the 
heart  of  Phaedra,  the  wife  of  Theseus,  a  love  for  her 
step-son.  Phaedra  struggles  against  the  sinful  passion 
until  brought  to  death's  door,  when  it  is  revealed  unto 
Hippolytus  by  her  nurse.  Hippolytus  is  filled  with 
horror  by  the  disclosure.  Phaedra  hangs  herself  for 
shame,  accusing  Hippolytus  in  a  letter  which  Theseus 
finds.  The  father  invokes  upon  his  son  a  curse, 
which  Poseidon  fulfills  before  the  innocence  of  Hip- 
polytus is  established  by  Artemis.  I  quote  first  a 
choral  ode  on  the  power  of  love,  personified  as  Eros, 
son  of  Aphrodite: 

O  Eros,  O  Eros!  how  melts  love's  yearning 

From  thine  eyes,  when  thy  sweet  spell  witcheth  the  heart 
Of  them  against  whom  thou  hast  marched  in  thy  might! 
Not  me,  not  me  for  mine  hurt  do  thou  smite, 
My  life's  heart-music  to  discord  turning. 
For  never  so  hotly  the  flame-spears  dart, 

Nor  so  fleet  are  the  star-shot  arrows  of  light. 
As  the  shaft  from  thy  fingers  that  speedeth  its  flight, 
As  the  flame  of  the  Love-queen's  bolts  fierce-burning, 
O  Eros,  the  child  of  Zeus  who  art! 

O  vainly,  O  vainly  by  Alpheus's  river 

And  in  Phcebus's  Pythian  shrine  hath  the  land 
Of  Hellas  the  blood  of  her  oxen  outpoured. 
But  Eros,  but  Love,  who  is  all  men's  lord, 
Unto  whom  Aphrodite  is  wont  to  deliver 

Her  keys,  that  the  doors  be  unsealed  by  his  hand 
Of  her  holy  of  holies,  we  have  not  adored. 
Though  he  marcheth  through  ruin  victory-ward, 
Though  he  raineth  calamity  forth  of  his  quiver 
On  mortals  against  his  on-coming  that  stand. 

Way. 


Euripides  209 

In  the  following  passage  Hippolytus  protests  his 
innocence  to  his  father  in  language  that  is  at  once 
respectful  and  forceful : 

Father,  thy  rage  and  strong-strained  fury  of  soul 

Are  fearful :  yet  fair-seeming  though  the  charge, 

If  one  unfold  it,  all  unfair  it  is. 

I  have  no  skill  to  speak  before  a  throng: 

My  tongue  is  loosed  with  equals,  and  those  few. 

And  reason:  they  that  are  among  the  wise 

Of  none  account,  to  mobs  are  eloquent. 

Yet  needs  I  must,  now  this  mischance  hath  lighted. 

Unrein  my  tongue.    And  first  will  I  begin 

Where  thou  didst  first  assail,  as  thou  wouldst  crush  me, 

And  I  find  no  reply.     See'st  thou  yon  sun 

And  earth? — within  their  compass  is  no  man  — 

Though  thou  den,y  it  —  chaster-souled  than  I. 

For  I  have  learned,  first,  to  revere  the  gods, 

Then,  to  have  friends  which  seek  to  do  no  wrong, 

Friends  who  think  shame  to  proffer  aught  of  base. 

Yea,  or  to  render  others  shameful  service. 

No  mocker  am  I,  father,  at  my  friends, 

But  to  the  absent  even  as  to  the  present: 

In  one  thing  flawless, — where  thou  thinkest  me  trapped, — 

For  to  this  day  my  body  is  clean  of  lust. 

God  grant  I  perish  nameless,  fameless  all, 
Cityless,  homeless,  exile,  vagabond 
On  earth, —  may  sea  norland  receive  my  corpse 
When  I  am  dead,  if  I  be  this  vile  thing! 

Way. 

Fully  one-half  of  the  extant  plays  of  Euripides  are 
based  on  legends  of  the  Trojan  war,  and  four  of  these 
treat  of  tragic  events  in  the  history  of  Agamemnon's 
family.  The  Iphigeneia  at  Aulis^  which  won  the  first  prize 
(with  the  Bacchanals)  after  the  poet's  death,  tells  of  the 
sacrifice  of  Agamemnon's  daughter  to  bring  favoring 
winds  for  the  Greek  fleet.     Clytemnestra  is  induced 


2IO  Homer  to  Theocritus 

to  bring  Iphigeneia  to  the  camp  at  Aulis  on  the  pre- 
text of  her  marriage  with  Achilles.  When  the  true 
reason  is  known,  Iphigeneia  at  first  pleads  piteously 
with  her  father  to  spare  her  life,  but  when  she  knows 
that  her  death  is  required  by  the  army  and  that  her 
father  is  helpless  to  save  her,  she  faces  her  doom  with 
marvelous  heroism.  When  the  fatal  blow  is  given,  lo! 
a  hind  is  found  lying  slain  upon  the  altar  in  the  place 
of  the  maiden.      I  quote  Iphigeneia's  entreaty: 

Had  I  the  tongue  of  Orpheus,  O  my  sire, 
To  charm  with  song  the  rocks  to  follow  me, 
And  witch  with  eloquence  whomsoe'er  I  would, 
I  had  essayed  it.     Now  —  mine  only  cunning  — 
Tears  will  I  bring,  for  this  is  all  I  can. 
And  suppliant  will  I  twine  about  thy  knees 
My  body,  which  this  mother  bare  to  thee. 
Ah,  slay  me  not  untimely!     Sweet  is  light: 
Constrain  me  not  to  see  the  nether  gloom! 
'Twas  I  first  called  thee  father,  thou  me  child. 
'Twas  I  first  throned  my  body  on  thy  knees, 
And  gave  thee  sweet  caresses  and  received. 
And  this  thy  word  was:  "Ah,  my  little  maid, 
Blest  shall  I  see  thee  in  a  husband's  halls 
Living  and  blooming  worthily  of  me?" 
And,  as  I  twined  my  fingers  in  thy  beard, 
Whereto  I  now  cling,  thus  I  answered  thee: 
"And  what  of  thee?     Shall  I  greet  thy  gray  hairs, 
Father,  with  loving  welcome  in  my  halls, 
Repaying  all  thy  fostering  toil  for  me?" 
I  keep  remembrance  of  that  converse  yet: 
Thou  hast  forgotten,  thou  wouldst  murder  me. 
Ah  no!  — by  Pelops,  by  thy  father  Atreus, 
And  by  this  mother,  whose  first  travail-pangs 
Now  in  this  second  anguish  are  renewed! 
What  part  have  I  in  Paris'  rape  of  Helen? 
Why,  father,  should  he  for  my  ruin  have  come? 
Look  on  me  —  give  me  one  glance  -  oh,  one  kiss, 


Euripides  2 1 1 

That  I  may  keep  in  death  from  thee  but  this 
Memorial,  if  thou  heed  my  pleading  not. 

[  To  her  infant  brother,  Orestes. 
Brother,  small  help  canst  thou  be  to  thy  friends: 
Yet  weep  with  me,  yet  supplicate  thy  sire 
To  slay  thy  sister  not!  —  some  sense  of  ill 
Even  in  wordless  infants  is  inborn. 
Lo,  by  his  silence  he  implores  thee,  father — 
Have  mercy,  have  compassion  on  my  youth! 
Yea,  by  thy  beard  we  pray  thee,  loved  ones  twain, 
A  nestling  one,  and  one  a  daughter  grown. 
In  one  cry  summing  all,  I  must  prevail! 
Sweet,  passing  sweet,  is  light  for  men  to  see, 
The  grave's  life  nothingness!     Who  prays  to  die 
Is  mad.     Ill  life  o'erpasseth  glorious  death. 

Way. 

A  few  years  before,  Euripides  had  brought  out  the 
sequel  to  this  story,  the  Iphigeneia  among  the  Tau.  ians^ 
one  of  his  finest  plays.  The  scene  is  laid  in  the  land 
of  the  Taurians,  north  of  the  Black  Sea,  whither 
Iphigeneia  was  borne  by  Artemis  from  the  altar  at 
Aulis.  There  she  serves  in  the  temple  as  priestess  of 
the  goddess,  to  whom  she  must  sacrifice  all  strangers 
who  come  to  the  land.  Orestes  and  Pylades  are 
brought  before  her.  Orestes  gains  his  friend's  life 
through  the  desire  of  Iphigeneia  to  send  a  message  to 
her  home  in  Argos.  Through  this  message  the  recog- 
nition of  brother  and  sister  is  effected.  They  plan 
a  way  of  escape  from  the  land,  and  succeed  by  the 
intervention  of  Athene.  The  recognition  scene  is  here 
given: 

Iph.     All  that  is  written  in  the  letter's  folds 

My  tongue  shall  say,  that  thou  mayst  tell  my  friends. 
So  all  is  safe:  if  thou  lose  not  the  script, 
Itself  shall  voiceless  tell  its  written  tale: 


212  Homer  to  Theocritus 

But  if  this  writing  in  the  sea  be  lost, 

Then  thy  life  saved  shall  save  my  words  for  me. 

Pyl.    Well  hast  thou  said,  both  for  thy  need  and  me. 
Now  say  to  whom  this  letter  I  must  bear 
To  Argos,  and  from  thee  that  message  speak. 

Iph.     Say  to  Orestes,  Agamemnon's  son  — 

"  This  iphigeneia,  slain  in  Aulis,  sends. 
Who  liveth,  yet  for  those  at  home  lives  not — '  * 

Or.      Where  is  she?     Hath  she  risen  from  the  dead? 

Iph.     She  whom  thou  seest  —  confuse  me  not  with  speech  — 
"  Bear  me  to  Argos,  brother,  ere  I  die: 
From  this  wild  land,  these  sacrifices  save. 
Wherein  7nine  office  is  to  slay  the  stranger ;'" — 

Or.      What  shall  I  say? — Now  dream  we,  Pylades? 

Iph.     "  Else  to  thine  house  will  I  become  a  curse, 

Orestes'  —  so,  twice  heard,  hold  fast  the  name. 

Or.      Gods! 

Iph.     Why  in  mine  affairs  invoke  the  gods? 

Or.      'Tis  naught:  say  on:  my  thoughts  had  wandered  far. 
[Aside.]     This  marvel  may  I  yet  by  question  fathom. 

Iph.     Say — "Artemis  in  7ny  place  laid  a  hind. 

And  saved  me, —  this  my  father  sacrificed, 
Deeining  he  plunged  the  keen  blade  into  me, — 
And  ?nade  me  dwell  here''    This  the  letter  is, 
And  in  the  tablets  this  is  what  is  writ. 

Pyl.   O  thou  who  hast  bound  me  by  an  easy  oath  — 
Hast  fairly  sworn  ! — I  will  not  tarry  long 
To  ratify  the  oath  that  I  have  sworn. 
This  tablet,  lo,  to  thee  I  bear,  and  give, 
Orestes,  from  thy  sister,  yonder  maid. 

Or.     This  I  receive: — I  let  its  foldsabide — 

First  will  I  seize  a  rapture  not  in  words: — 
Dear  sister  mine,  albeit  wonder-struck, 
With  scarce-believing  arm  I  fold  thee  round, 
And  taste  delight,  who  hear  things  marvellous! 

Way. 

The  Orestes  (408  B.  C. )  is  rather  a  melodrama  than 
a  tragedy,    full   of  intrigue    and    flashy   scenes,    and 


Euripides  213 

closing  with  an  imposing  tableau.  It  is  said  to  have 
been  very  popular  on  the  stage,  but  has  received  no 
commendation  from  critics.  The  Electra  (about  413 
B.  C.)  is  the  best  illustration  of  Euripides'  manner  in 
revising  the  myths  used  by  the  older  poets  and  in 
reducing  the  characters  to  the  level  of  everyday  life. 
Dealing  with  precisely  the  same  theme  as  the  Libation- 
Bea?'ers  of  ^schylus  and  the  Electra  of  Sophocles,  it 
serves  well  to  show  the  difference  between  Euripides 
and  the  other  two  poets  in  their  conception  of  tragedy; 
although  the  comparison  is  not  quite  fair  to  Euripides, 
since  the  Electra  is  by  no  means  his  best  play.  In 
^schylus  our  interest  is  less  in  the  characters  than 
in  the  process  by  which  divine  justice  is  visited  upon 
Clytemnestra  and  ^gisthus.  Orestes  acts  in  accord- 
ance with  a  divine  command,  but  even  so  he  becomes 
guilty  of  a  horrible  crime  which  must  be  expiated. 
The  plot  is  simple,  and  the  action  moves  steadily 
toward  the  goal.  In  Sophocles  the  plot  is  more  com- 
plicated, and  the  possibilities  of  dramatic  situations 
are  more  fully  grasped.  Electra  becomes  the  leading 
character  instead  of  Orestes.  Our  interest  for  her  is 
aroused  by  her  courage  and  confidence  in  the  face  of 
indignity  and  insult,  and  our  sympathies  are  drawn  to 
her  still  more  by  the  pathetic  contrast  between  her 
calm  hope  at  the  beginning,  when  she  believes  that 
Orestes  is  alive,  and  her  despair  when  she  hears  the 
false  message  of  his  death.  Orestes  now  has  two 
motives  for  slaying  the  guilty  pair — vengeance  for  his 
father's  murder  and  his  moral  obligation  to  rescue  his 
sister  from  her  cruel  position.  The  characters  are  as 
noble  as  in  ^schylus,  but  their  human  interest  is 
greater  and  the    play  of  motives  more  subtle. 


ii4                   Homer  to  Theocritus  \ 

The  Electra  of  Euripides  is  a  totally  different  con-  i 

ception   from    either  of    these   plays.      The    scene    is  ; 

a  peasant's  cottage.      Electra  lives  there  with  a  peas-  \ 

ant  for  her  husband,  to  whom  ^^gisthus  and  Clytem-  | 

nestra  married  her  that  they  might  have  nothing  to  | 

fear  from  her  children.      But  she  is  wife  only  in  name,  j 

for  the  peasant  reverences  her  royal  blood., __Orestes  \ 

returnmg  to  Argos,  finds„her,  and  is.  at  length  recog-  \ 

nized  15y  a  scar   upon  .his_  forehead.^      They    entice  j 

Clytmnnestra  IQ  the-  iuit-hy  a  message-^at  Electra  is  i 

about   to   be    delivered    of   a    child.      She    comes   in  ; 
a  chariot,  with  a  train  of  servants,  her^sgleridiir--co^n — i 

trasting  with  the  squalor  of   Electra's  home.      Before  ] 

she  enters  and  is  slain,  Electra  rehearses  all  her  sins  ; 

to  her.      Meanwhile  ^gisttmshas  been  slain  by  Orestes  ; 

and   Pylades  while  performing    a    sacnlTce".       At    the  ; 

ckrse  of    the    play   the    Dioscuri,  Castor  and    Pollux,  \ 

appear  from  on  high,  arrange  the  marriage  of  Electra  '> 
and  Pylades,  with  a  reward  for  her  present  husband, 

and  foretell  to  Orestes  his  pursuit  by  the  Furies  and  i 

his  trial  in  Athens.      During  the  action  we  are  scarcely  \ 

conscious   of  the   restless   power  of   the   divine  will  1 

driving  Orestes  and  Electra  forward^ _so  prominenPm  \ 

^sychlus,   nor  are  the  principal  persons  the  strong,  ! 

unflinching    characters    that    we    find    in    Sophocles,  j 

accomplishing  their  vengeance  without  scruple.      They  I 

*The  recognition  scene  is  characteristic.    In  iEschylus  Electra  knows 

Orestes  by  a  lock  of  hair,  in  color  like  her  own',  andlJy  a  footpiiiil  in  the  j 

sand  into  which  her  own  foot  fits.    In  Euripides  this  mode  of  recoghltion  is  \ 

suggested  to  Electra,  but  is  criticised  by  her.    "Many  men  have  hair  TTke  ' 

in  color,  even  when  not  kin.    Besides,  Orestes'  hair  would  be  as  becomes  j 

one  trained  in  the  wrestling-school,  while  mine  is  corniced  like  a  woman's.  : 

As  for  the  footprint,  how  should  the  prints  of  the  foot  of  brother  and  sister  '\ 

be  alike,  seeing  that  the  man's  is  larger?"    In  Sophocles  Orestes  is  known  i 

by  a  piece  of  embroidery  which   Electra   had   made.    But  the  Electra  of  | 
Euripides  says:  "  How  could  he  now  wear  the  robes  he  wore  as  a  child, 

unless  the  garment  grew  with  his  growth.?"    Such  covert  criticisms  of  his  | 

predecessors  are  found  elsewhere  in  Euripides.  \ 


Euripides  215 

ane^Jndeed^Jess  noble  in  Euripides,  but  certainly  more 
human  fromthe^nTd^gm-point  of  view. 

The  Trojan 'Women  (415  ^.  CT)  and  the  Hecabe 
(about  424  B.  C.)  both  depict  scenes  ensuing  upon 
the  fall  of  Troy.  In  fact  the  former  play  is  rather 
a  series  of  loosely  connected  scenes  from  this  story 
than  a  connected  plot.  The  Greek  chieftains  have 
cast  lots  for  the  captive  Trojan  women.  Cassanclrj, 
the  prophetess,  falls  to  Agamemnon;  Andromache, 
Hector's  wife,  to  Neoptolemus,  son  of  Achilles; 
Hecabe,  Priam's  aged  queen,  to  Odysseus;  and 
Polyxena,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Hecabe  and 
Priam,  is  to  be  offered  in  sacrifice  to  the  spirit  of 
Achilles.  The  Greeks  decree  that  Astyanax,  the  child 
of  Hector  and  Andromache,  shall  be  thrown  from  the 
battlements  of  Troy.  Hecabe  parts  with  one  after 
another  of  her  daughters,  some  to  die,  others  to  be 
slaves.  The  mangled  body  of  Astyanax  is  laid  before 
her,  and  she  herself  is  led  away  a  slave,  overwhelmed 
by  her  crushing  sorrows.  The  Hecabe  sets  forth  the 
vengeance  of  the  aged  queen  upon  Polymnestor,  the 
murderer  of  her  son  Polydorus.  Enticing  him  and  his 
children  into  her  tent,  she  kills  his  children  and  puts 
out  his  eyes.  In  this  play  the  sacrifice  of  Polyxena  on 
Achilles'  tomb  is  powerfully  described.  I  quote  first, 
from  the  Trojan  Women^  the  wedding-song  of  the  fren- 
zied Cassandra: 

Up  with  the  torch! — give  it  me  —  let  me  render 

Worship  to  Phoebus!  --I0,  lo  how  I  fling 
Wide  through  his  temple  the  flash  of  its  splendour: — 

Hymen!  O  Marriatje-god,  Hymen,  my  king! 
Happy  the  bridegroom  who  waiteth  to  meet  me; 
Happy  am  I  for  the  couch  that  shall  greet  me; 


21 6  Homer  to  Theocritus  ! 

Royal  espousals  to  Argos  I  bring: —  I 

Bridal-king,  Hymen,  thy  glory  I  sing.  j 

Mother,  thou  lingerest  long  at  thy  weeping,  \ 

Aye  makest  moan  for  my  sire  who  hath  died, 

Mourn'st  our  dear  country  with  sorrow  unsleeping;  » 

Therefore  myself  for  my  own  marriage-tide  \ 

Kindle  the  firebrands,  a  glory  outstreaming,  ' 

Toss  up  the  torches,  a  radiance  far-gleaming: —  i 

Hymen,  to  thee  is  their  brightness  upleaping;  i 

Hekate,  flash  thou  thy  star-glitter  wide,  i 

After  thy  wont  when  a  maid  is  a  bride.  ^ 

Float,  flying  feet  of  the  dancers,  forth-leading  ', 

Revel  of  bridals:  ring,  bacchanal  strain,  i: 

Ring  in  thanksgiving  for  fortune  exceeding  ■ 

Happy,  that  fell  to  my  father  to  gain.  \ 

Holy  the  dance  is,  my  duty,  my  glory:  i 

Lead  thou  it,  Phoebus;  midst  bay-trees  before  thee  i 

Aye  have  I  ministered,  there  in  thy  fane: —  ; 

Marriage-king,  Hymen!  sing  loud  the  refrain.  « 

Up,  mother,  join  thou  the  revel: — with  paces  j 

Woven  with  mine  through  the  sweet  measure  flee;  i 

Hitherward,  thitherward,  thrid  the  dance-mazes:  ' 

Sing  ever  "  Marriage-king!  —  Hymen! "  sing  ye.  ] 

Bliss  ever  chime  through  the  notes  of  your  singing,  \ 

Hail  ye  the  bride  with  glad  voices  outringing.  i 

Daughters  of  Phrygia,  arrayed  like  the  Graces,  ! 

Hymn  ye  my  bridal,  the  bridegroom  for  me  ; 

Destined  by  fate's  everlasting  decree.  i 

..^'Way.  j 

The  following  description   by  the   Herald   of  the     j 

death  of  Polyxena  is  taken  from  the  Hecabe:  \ 

The  whole  vast  concourse  of  the  Achaian  host  \ 

Stood  round  the  tomb  to  see  your  daughter  die.  :! 

Achilleus'  son,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  ; 

Placed  her  upon  the  mound,  and  I  stayed  near;  '■ 

And  youths,  the  flower  of  Greece,  a  chosen  few,  I 

With  hands  to  check  thy  heifer,  should  she  bound,  \ 


Euripides  217 


Attended.     From  a  cup  of  carven  gold, 
Raised  full  of  wine,  Achilleus'  son  poured  forth 
Libation  to  his  sire,  and  bade  me  sound 
Silence  throughout  the  whole  Achaian  host. 
I,  standing  there,  cried  in  the  midst  these  words: 

"Silence,  Achaians!  let  the  host  be  still! 
Hush,  hold  your  voices!"     Breathless  stayed  the  crowd; 
But  he:  "  O  son  of  Peleus,  father  mine, 
Take  these  libations  pleasant  to  thy  soul, 
Draughts  that  allure  the  dead:  come,  drink  the  black 
Pure  maiden's  blood  wherewith  the  host  and  I 
Sue  thee:  be  kindly  to  us;  loose  our  prows, 
And  let  our  barks  go  free:  give  safe  return 
Homeward  from  Troy  to  all,  and  happy  voyage." 
Such  words  he  spake,  and  the  crowd  prayed  assent. 
Then  from  the  scabbard,  by  its  golden  hilt, 
He  drew  the  sword,  and  to  the  chosen  youths 
Signalled  that  they  should  bring  the  maid;  but  she. 
Knowing  her  hour  was  come,  spake  thus  and  said: 

"O  men  of  Argos,  who  have  sacked  my  town, 
Lo,  of  free  will  I  die!  let  no  man  touch 
My  body:  boldly  will  I  stretch  my  throat. 
Nay,  but  I  pray  you  set  me  free,  then  slay; 
That  free  1  thus  may  perish:  'mong  the  dead. 
Being  a  queen,  I  blush  to  be  called  slave." 
The  people  shouted,  and  King  Agamemnon 
Bade  the  youths  loose  the  maid  and  set  her  free: 
She  when  she  heard  the  order  of  the  chiefs. 
Seizing  her  mantle,  from  the  shoulder  down 
To  the  soft  centre  of  her  snowy  waist 
Tore  it,  and  showed  her  breasts  and  bosom  fair 
As  in  a  statue.     Bending  then  with  knee 
On  earth,  she  spake  a  speech  most  piteous: 

^'See  you  this  breast,  O  youth?  if  breast  you  will, 
Strike  it;  take  heart:  or  if  beneath  my  neck, 
Lo!  here  my  throat  is  ready  for  your  sword'  " 
He  willing  not,  yet  willing,  pity-stirred 
In  sorrow  for  the  maiden,  with  his  blade 
Severed  the  channels  of  her  breath:  blood  flowed; 


21 8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

And  she,  though  dying,  still  had  thought  to  fall 
In  seemly  wise,  hiding  what  eyes  should  see  not. 
And  when  she  breathed  her  life  out  from  the  blow, 
Then  was  the  Argive  host  in  divers  way 
Of  service  parted;  for  some,  bringing  leaves, 
Strewed  them  upon  the  corpse;  some  piled  a  pyre. 
Dragging  pine  trunks  and  boughs;  and  he  who  bore  none 
Heard  from  the  bearers  many  a  bitter  word: 

"  Standest  thou,  villain?     Hast  thou  then  no  robe, 
No  funeral  honours  for  the  maid  to  bring? 
Wilt  thou  not  go  and  get  for  her  who  died 
Most  nobly,  bravest-souled,  some  gift?"    Thus  they 
Spake  of  thy  child  in  death,  O  thou  most  blest 
Of  women,  in  thy  daughter  most  undone! 

Symonds. 

The  later  fortunes  of  Hector's  v^^ife  are  followed  in 
the  Andromache^  written  in  the  early  years  of  the  Pelo- 
ponnesian  war,  but  not  exhibited  at  Athens.  In  the 
Helen  (412)  Euripides  takes  up  the  legend  that  Paris 
did  not  carry  off  the  real  Helen  to  Troy,  but  only 
a  phantom  resembling  her  (see  page  134).^  The  real 
Helen  was  taken  by  Hermes  to  Egypt,  where  she 
remained  true  to  her  husband,  in  spite  of  the  ardent 
wooing  of  the  king  of  the  land.  Menelaus,  after  many 
wanderings,  comes  to  Egypt  with  the  phantom  Helen, 
discovers  his  true  wife,  and  escapes  with  her  by 
a  stratagem,  the  phantom  having  meanwhile  flown 
away. 

Two  of  the  extant  plays  of  Euripides  are  on  sub- 
jects connected  with  the  house  of  Labdacus  (see  page 
173) — the  Fhoeniciatt  Woman  (about  410  B.  C. )  and 
the  Suppliants  (about  420  B.  C).     The  former  covers 

'The  reason  assigned  by  the  poet  for  this  deception  was  that  Hera, 
angry  at  the  decision  rendered  by  Paris,  desired  "to  turn  his  joy  in 
Helen  into  air."  This  version  of  the  story  was  in«»  the  first  instance 
invented,  of  course,  to  clear  the  reputation  of  Helen. 


Euripides  219 

in  general  the  same  ground  as  the  Seven  against  Thebes 
of  ^schylus,  but  Euripides  adds  many  details  to  the 
story,  filling  the  drama  with  many  moving  scenes  and 
complicating  the  plot.  The  chorus  is  formed  of 
Phoenician  maidens  on  their  way  to  Delphi.  Instead 
of  the  somewhat  monotonous  catalogue  of  the  twice 
seven  champions  given  by  ^schylus,  Euripides 
achieves  the  same  result  by  having  Antigone  view  the 
opposing  army  from  the  roof  of  the  palace  and  by 
a  description  of  the  battle.  An  entirely  new  feature 
is  added :  the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  Menoeceus,  son  of 
Creon,  that  the  forces  of  Thebes  may  be  victorious. 
In  one  important  respect  the  poet  deviates  from  the 
myth  as  given  by  Sophocles :  Jocasta  is  represented  as 
still  alive.  She  tries  to  reconcile  her  two  sons,  but  in 
vain;  and  finally,  rushing  to  the  field  of  battle,  kills 
herself  over  the  bodies  of  Eteocles  and  Polyneices, 
locked  in  the  fatal  embrace.  Creon  banishes  QEdipus 
from  Thebes.  Antigone  renounces  her  marriage  with 
Haemon,  to  whom  she  is  betrothed,  resolving  to  attend 
her  father  in  exile  after  burying  Polyneices  in  viola- 
tion of  the  edict  of  Creon.  In  spite  of  the  complicated 
plot  the  drama  is  well  constructed,  and  is  one  of  the 
most  attractive  of  the  extant  plays  of  the  poet.  In 
the  following  passage  Jocasta  pleads  with  Eteocles  to 
share  the  kingdom  with  his  brother: 

My  son  Eteokles,  evil  unalloyed 

Cleaves  not  to  old  age:  nay,  experience 

Can  plead  more  wisely  than  the  lips  of   youth. 

Why  at  Ambition,  worst  of  deities, 

Son,  graspest  thou?    Do  not:  she  is  Queen  of  Wrong. 

Homes  many  and  happy  cities  enters  she. 

And  leaves  for  ruin  of  her  votaries. 

Thou  art  mad  for  her!  — better  to  honour,  son, 


220  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Equality,  which  knitteth  friends  to  friends, 

Cities  to  cities,  allies  unto  allies. 

Man's  law  of  nature  is  equality, 

And  the  less,  ever  marshalled  foe  against 

The  greater,  ushers  in  the  dawn  of  hate. 

Measures  for  men  Equality  ordained, 

Meting  of  weights  and  number  she  assigned. 

The  sightless  face  of  night  and  the  sun's  beam 

Equally  pace  along  their  yearly  round, 

Nor  either  envieth  that  it  must  give  place. 

Sun,  then,  and  night  are  servants  unto  men. 

Shalt  thou  not  brook  to  halve  your  heritage 

And  share  with  him?  .    .     .  Ah,  where  is  justice  then? 

Wherefore  dost  thou  prize  lordship  overmuch, — 

A  prosperous  wrong,  —  and  count  it  some  great  thing? 

Is  worship  precious?    Nay,  'tis  vanity. 

Wouldst  have,  with  great  wealth  in  thy  halls,  great  travail? 

What  is  thy  profit?  —  profit  but  in  name; 

Seeing  enough  sufficeth  for  the  wise. 

Mortals  hold  their  possessions  not  in  fee: 

We  are  but  the  stewards  of  the  gifts  of  God: 

Whene'er  he  will,  he  claims  his  own  again. 

And  wealth  abides  not,  't  is  but  for  a  day. 

Way. 

The  choral  ode  to  Ares  is  spirited: 

Ares  the  troublous,  O  whence  is  thy  passion 
For  blood  and  for  death,  unattuned  to  the  feasts 

of  the  Revelry-king? 
Not  for  the  dances,  the  circlings  of  beauty, 

in  virginal  fashion 
Tossed  are  thy  tresses  abroad,  nor  to  the  breathings 
of  flutes  dost  thou  sing 
A  strain  to  whose  witchery  dances  are  wreathing: 
But  with  clangour  of  harness  to  fight  through  the  Argive 
array  art  thou  breathing 
War-lust  for  the  blood  of  our  Thebes  athirst, 
As  thou  leadest  the  dance  of  a  revel  accurst 
Where  no  flutes  ring. 


Euripides  221 

Thou  art  found  not  where  fawnskin  and  thyrsus 

in  mad  reel  mingle  and  sunder, 
But  with  chariots  and  clashing  of  bits  and  with 
war-horses'  footfall  of  thunder 
By  Ismenus'  brimming  marge 
With  the  rushing  of  steeds  dost  thou  charge, 
Into  Argives  breathing  the  battle-hate 
Against  the  sons  of  the  Dragon-state; 

And  with  harness  of  brass  and  with  targe, 
Fronting  our  ramparts  of  stone,  dost  array 

A  host  for  the  fray. 
A  fearful  Goddess  in  sooth  is  Strife, 
Of  whose  devising  the  troublous  life 
Of  the  Labdakid  kings  of  the  land  is  anguish-rife. 

Way. 

The  Suppliants  is  an  encomium  of  Athens,  whose 
king,  Theseus,  in  response  to  the  supplications  of  the 
wives  of  the  Argive  heroes  fallen  at  Thebes,  compels 
Creon  by  battle  to  give  up  the  bodies  for  burial.  When 
the  bodies  of  the  dead  are  brought  in,  funeral  pyres 
are  lighted,  and  Evadne  throws  herself  from  a  height 
upon  the  pyre  of  her  husband,  Capaneus — a  stirring 
spectacle,  unparalleled  in  the  Greek  drama. 

Of  the  two  plays  which  deal  with  the  legends  of 
Heracles,  the  older,  the  Children  of  Heracles  (about 
428  B.  C.)  resembles  the  Suppliants.  Athens  receives 
and  protects  Heracles*  children  and  his  mother, 
Alcmene,  who  have  been  driven  out  of  Argos  by  Eurys- 
theus.  A  battle  ensues.  The  oracles  demand  as  the 
price  of  victory  for  Athens  the  sacrifice  of  a  virgin, 
and  Macaria,  eldest  daughter  of  Heracles,  heroically 
offers  herself  as  the  victim — a  dramatic  motive 
employed  again  by  the  poet  in  the  Phoenician  Wojnan. 

The  Heracles  (about  422  B.  C.)  is  one  of  the  most 
tragic   of   the   plays  of  Euripides.      The   last  of   the 


222  Homer  to  Theocritus 

twelve  labors  which  the  hero  was  to  perform  for 
Eurystheus,  through  the  hatred  of  Hera,  was  to  fetch 
the  three-headed  dog,  Cerberus,  from  the  lower  world. 
Ere  he  departed  he  committed  to  Creon,  king  of 
Thebes  and  father  of  his  wife,  his  aged  father, 
Amphitryon,  his  wife,  Megara,  and  his  sons.  Now 
during  his  long  absence  Creon  was  deposed  and  slain 
by  Lycus,  who  assumed  the  throne.  This  Lycus, 
fearing  lest  Creon's  murder  should  be  avenged  if  any 
of  the  family  of  Heracles  survived,  plots  against  them. 
They  take  refuge  at  the  altar,  but  Lycus  respects  not 
the  sanctuary.  When  they  are  on  the  point  of  being 
slain,  Heracles  suddenly  appears  and  kills  Lycus. 
But  a  madness  sent  by  Hera  comes  upon  him,  and  he 
slays  his  own  wife  and  children.  His  agony  on  awak- 
ening is  terrible.  Theseus  takes  him  to  Athens  to  be 
purified  and  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  days,  closing  his 
glorious  career  ruined,  heartbroken,  and  bereft  of  his 
loved  ones. 

The  chorus  in  Euripides  often  voices  the  thoughts 
of  the  poet  himself.  The  best  illustration  of  this 
tendency  is  found  in  the  following  ode  from  the 
Heracles^  which  is  connected  with  the  action  of 
the  tragedy  by  the  last  verses  alone : 

Youth  is  a  pleasant  burthen  to  me; 

But  age  on  my  head,  more  heavily 

Than  the  crags  of  Aitna,  weighs  and  weighs, 

And  darkening  cloaks  the  lids  and  intercepts  the  rays. 

Never  be  mine  the  preference 

Of  an  Asian  empire's  wealth,  nor  yet 

Of  a  house  all  gold,  to  youth,  to  youth 

That's  beauty,  whatever  the  gods  dispense! 

Whether  in  weahh  we  joy,  or  fret 

Paupers — of  all  god's  gifts  most  beautiful  in  truth! 


Euripides  223 


But  miserable  murderous  age  I  hate! 
Let  it  go  to  wreck  the  waves  adown, 
Nor  ever  by  rights  plague  tower  or  town 
Where  mortals  bide,  but  still  elate 
With  wings,  on  ether,  precipitate. 
Wander  them  round  —  nor  wait! 

But  if  the  gods  to  man's  degree 

Had  wit  and  wisdom,  they  would  bring 

Mankind  a  twofold  youth  to  be 

Their  virtue's  sign-mark,  all  should  see. 

In  those  with  whom  life's  winter  thus  grew  spring. 

For  when  they  died,  into  the  sun  once  more 

Would  they  have  traversed  twice  life's  race-course  o'er; 

While  ignobility  had  simply  run 

Existence  through,  nor  second  life  begun. 

And  so  might  we  discern  both  bad  and  good 

As  surely  as  the  starry  multitude 

Is  numbered  by  the  sailors,  one  and  one. 

But  now  the  gods  by  no  apparent  line 

Limit  the  worthy  and  the  base  define; 

Only  a  certain  period  rounds,  and  so 

Brings  man  more  wealth, —  but  youthful  vigour,  nol 

Well!     I  am  not  to  pause 

Mingling  together  — wine  and  wine  in  cup  — 

The  Graces  with  the  Muses  up  — 

Most  dulcet  marriage:  loosed  from  music's  laws, 

No  life  for  me! 

But  where  the  wreaths  abound  there  ever  may  I  be! 

And  still,  an  aged  bard,  I  shout  Mnemosune  — 

Still  chant  of  Herakles  the  triumph-chant. 

Companioned  by  the  seven-stringed  tortoise-shell 

And  Libuan  flute,  and  Bromios'  self  as  well, 

God  of  the  grape,  with  man  participant! 

Nor  yet  will  we  arrest  their  glad  advance  — 

The  Muses  who  so  long  have  led  me  forth  to  dancel 

A  paian  —  hymn  the  Delian  girls  indeed. 

Weaving  a  beauteous  measure  in  and  out 

His  temple-gates,  Latona's  goodly  seed; 


224  Homer  to  Theocritus 

And  paians  —  I  too,  these  thy  domes  about, 
From  these  gray  cheeks,  my  king,  will  swan-like  shout. 
Old  songster!     Ay,  in  songs  it  starts  off  brave  — 
"  Zeus's  son  is  he! "  and  yet,  such  grace  of  birth 
Surpassing  far,  to  man  his  labours  gave 
Existence,  one  calm  flow  without  a  wave, 
Having  destroyed  the  beasts,  the  terrors  of  the  earth. 

Robert  Browning. 

Passing  over  the  Cyclops^  the  only  extant  specimen 
of  the  satyr-drama,  and  the  Rhesus^  wrongly  attributed 
to  Euripides,  two  plays  remain  to  be  considered,  both 
of  them  tragedies  of  the  romantic  type:  Ion  (about 
420  B.  C.)  and  the  Bacchanals  (soon  after  405).  The 
former  is  notable  for  the  beautiful  character  of  Ion, 
son  of  Apollo  and  the  Athenian  princess,  Creusa. 
Exposed  by  his  mother  by  reason  of  her  fear  and 
shame,  he  is  borne  to  Delphi  by  the  god,  where  he 
grows  up  in  the  service  of  the  sanctuary.  Creusa 
marries  Xuthus,  king  of  Athens,  but  no  child  is  born 
to  them.  After  many  years  they  journey  to  Delphi 
to  ask  Apollo  to  bless  their  union  with  children,  Creusa 
secretly  hoping  that  Apollo  will  reveal  her  son.  By 
the  god's  command  Xuthus  finds  a  son  in  the  first  per- 
son he  meets  as  he  leaves  the  temple.  Ion.  The 
queen,  believing  that  Ion  is  the  issue  of  her  husband 
by  some  lawless  connection,  thinks  that  Apollo  has 
forgotten  her,  and  attempts  to  slay  the  boy.  But  the 
plan  is  frustrated.  Apollo  saves  the  queen  from  the 
anger  of  the  people  and  reveals  Ion  to  his  mother. 
I  quote  the  song  of  Ion  as  he  comes  from  the  temple 
of  Apollo  in  the  early  morning:  , .    . 

Lo,  yonder  the  Sun-god  is  turning  to  earthward  his  splendour- 
Chariot  of  light;  [chasing. 

And  the  stars  from  the  firmament  flee  from  the  fiery  arrows 
To  the  sacred  night: 


Euripides  225 

[as  with  yearning 
And  the  crests  of  Parnassus  untrodden  are  flaming  and  flushed, 

[returning 

Of  welcome  to  far-flashing  wheels  with  the  glory  of  daylight 

To  mortal  sight.  [burning 

To  the  roof-ridge  of  Phcebus  the  fume  of  the  incense  of  Araby 

As  a  bird  taketh  flight. 

On  the  tripod  most  holy  is  seated  the  Delphian  Maiden 
Chanting  to  children  of  Hellas  the  wild  cries,  laden 

With  doom,  from  the  lips  of  Apollo  that  ring. 
Delphians,  Phcebus's  priesthood-train, 

Unto  Castaly's  silvery-swirling  spring 
Pass  ye,  and  cleanse  with  the  pure  spray-rain 
Your  bodies,  or  ever  ye  enter  his  fane. 
Set  a  watch  on  the  door  of  your  lips;  be  there  heard 
Nothing  but  good  in  the  secret  word 
That  ye  murmur  to  them  whose  hearts  be  stirrred 
To  seek  to  his  shrine,  that  they  seek  not  in  vain. 
And  1  in  the  toil  that  is  mine — mine  now. 
And  from  childhood  up, —  with  the  bay's  young  bough, 
And  with  wreathed  garlands  holy  will  cleanse 

The  portals  of  Phoebus;  with  dews  from  the  spring 
Will  I  sprinkle  his  pavement  and  chase  far  thence 

With  the  shaft  from  the  string 
The  flocks  of  the  birds:  the  defilers  shall  flee 

From  his  offerings  holy.     Nor  mother  is  mine 
Neither  father:  his  temple  hath  nurtured  me, 
And  I  serve  his  shrine. 

Come,  branch  in  thy  freshness  yet  blowing, 
God's  minister,  loveliest  bay, 
Over  the  altar-steps  glide. 
In  the  gardens  immortal,  beside 
His  temple,  hath  burgeoned  thy  pride, 
Where  the  sacred  waters  are  flowing 
Through  a  veil  of  the  myrtle  spray, 
A  fountain  that  leapeth  aye 

O'er  thy  tresses  divine  to  pour. 
I  wave  thee  o'er  Phcebus'  floor 
As  the  sun's  wing  soars  sudden-glowing. 


226  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Such  service  is  mine  each  day. 
O  Healer,  O  Healer-king, 
Let  blessing  on  blessing  upring 
Unto  Leto's  son  as  I  sing. 

Way. 

The  Bacchanals  is  the  only  extant  play  based  upon 
the  legends  of  Dionysus,  or  Bacchus,  in  whose  worship 
the  drama  originated  It  was  written  while  the  poet 
was  sojourning  in  Macedonia,  and  was  produced  in 
Athens  after  his  death  by  his  grandson,  together  with 
the  Taurian  Iphige7ieia  and  two  lost  plays.  It  seems 
to  have  won  the  first  prize.  It  is  one  of  the  strongest 
of  the  tragedies  which  survive— an  enthusiastic  tribute 
to  the  wine-god.  Dionysus  enters  Thebes,  his  native 
city,  after  a  victorious  march  through  all  the  earth, 
accompanied  by  a  band  of  Bacchanalian  women  who 
form  the  chorus.  Pentheus,  the  king  of  Thebes,  denies 
his  godhead,  seeing  in  him  but  the  son  of  a  mortal 
woman^;  but  the  aged  Cadmus,  the  prophet  Teiresias, 
and  the  women  of  Thebes  accept  his  worship  and  join 
the  Bacchic  revelers.  Pentheus  forbids  the  worship, 
and  decrees  that  the  youth  Dionysus  shall  die.  Soon 
the  god  himself,  disguised  as  a  Ly.dian,  is  led  in  a  cap- 
tive, and  is  cast  into  a  cell,  whence  he  suddenly 
appears,  freed  by  his  own  power.  Pentheus  is  induced 
to  go  forth  in  woman's  garb  to  the  mountains,  where 
the  reveling  women  are  celebrating  in  honor  of 
Dionysus  the  rites  which  no  man  may  look  upon  and 
live.  They  discover  Pentheus  and  tear  him  asunder, 
limb  by  limb,  his  own  mother,  Agave,  and  her  sisters, 
in  their  madness  not  knowing  him,  taking  the  lead. 
Finally  Dionysus  appears  before  them  in  all  his  divine 

^Dionysus  was  the  son  of  Zeus  by  the  Princess  Semele,  daughter  of 
Cadmus,  the  founder  of  Thebes  and  grandsire  of  Pentheus. 


Euripides  11'] 

glory  and  reveals  their  future.     The  following  choral 
ode  is  much  admired: 

O  when,  through  the  long  night. 

With  fleet  foot  glancing  white, 
Shall  I  go  dancing  in  my  revelry. 

My  neck  cast  back,  and  bare 

Unto  the  dewy  air, 
Like  sportive  fawn  in  the  green  meadow's  glee? 

Lo,  in  her  fear  she  springs 

Over  th'  encircling  rings, 
Over  the  well-worn  nets  far  off  and  fast; 

While  swift  along  her  track 

The  huntsman  cheers  his  pack, 
With  panting  toil,  and  fiery  storm-wind  haste. 
Where  down  the  river-bank  spreads  the  wide  meadow, 

Rejoices  she  in  the  untrod  solitude. 
Couches  at  length  beneath  the  silent  shadow 

Of  the  old  hospitable  wood. 

What  is  wisest?  what  is  fairest. 
Of  God's  boons  to  man  the  rarest? 
With  the  conscious  conquering  hand 
Above  the  foeman's  head  to  stand. 
What  is  fairest  still  is  dearest. 

Slow  come,  but  come  at  length. 

In  their  majestic  strength, 
Faithful  and  true,  the  avenging  deities: 

And  chastening  human  folly, 

And  the  mad  pride  unholy, 
Of  those  who  to  the  gods  bow  not  their  knees. 

For  hidden  still  and  mute. 

As  glides  their  printless  foot, 
The  impious  on  their  winding  path  they  hound. 

For  it  is  ill  to  know, 

And  it  is  ill  to  do, 
Beyond  the  law's  inexorable  bound. 
'Tis  but  light  cost  in  his  own  power  sublime 

To  array  the  godhead,  whoso'er  he  be; 


228  Homer  to  Theocritus 

And  law  is  old,  even  as  the  oldest  time, 
Nature's  own  unrepealed  decree. 

What  is  wisest?  what  is  fairest, 
Of  God's  boons  to  man  the  rarest? 
With  the  conscious  conquering  hand 
Above  the  foeman's  head  to  stand. 
What  is  fairest  still  is  rarest. 

Who  hath  'scaped  the  turbulent  sea, 
And  reached  the  haven,  happy  hel 
Happy  he  whose  toils  are  o'er, 
In  the  race  of  wealth  and  power! 
This  one  here,  and  that  one  there, 
Passes  by,  and  everywhere 
Still  expectant  thousands  over 
Thousand  hopes  are  seen  to  hover. 
Some  to  mortals  end  in  bliss; 

Some  have  already  fled  away: 
Happiness  alone  is  his 

That  happy  is  to-day. 


Milman. 


CHAPTER  X 

COMIC    POETRY.      ARISTOPHANES 

The  Origin  of  Comedy — Susarion  —  Epicharmus — Recognition 
of  Comedy  in  Attica  —  The  Subjects  of  Comedy — The 
Poets  of  the  Old  Comedy:  Cratinus,  Eupolis,  Aristophanes 
— The  Structure  of  Comedy,  illustrated  by  the  Birds  of  Aris- 
tophanes^— The  A^harjiicuis — 'Y\\.q  Peace — The  ILysistratd 
^noriazuscE  —  Th 


■The  Tkesmo^nortazusce  —  The  RarliameJit  of  Wmu&n — 
The  Plutus  — ^he  TGiis'hts  —  The  CJojids  —  The  Wasps  — 
The  "Froprs.  — ^w 

Comedy  was  born  about  the  same  time  as  tragedy, 
toward  the  middle  of  the  sixth  century,  but  it  was  long 
in  taking  its  place  beside  tragedy  as  a  recognized 
branch  of  literature.  Like  tragedy,  it  was  from  its 
origin  connected  with  the  worship  of  Dionysus^  and 
had  its  beginnings  among  the  Dorian  peoples  of  the 
Peloponne^ug.  From  early  times  the  worship  of  the 
wine-god  was  celebrated  by  mirthful  revelers,  who 
sang  at  the  festivals  impromptu  songs,  accompanied 
by  lively  dancing.  Such  a  band  of  Bacchic  revelers 
was  called  a  comus,  and  their  song  or  performance  was 
later  given  the  name  "comedy"  {comus  3.n6.  odi^  "comus- 
song")  formed  after  the  pattern  of  tragedy. 

This  rude  performance  seems  to  have  received 
some  sort  of  development  at  the  hands  of  Susarion  of 
Megara.  We  cannot  make  out  precisely  the  changes 
which  he  introduced,  but  it  is  probable  that  he  substi- 
tuted verses  of  his  own  composition  for  the  impromptu 
songs  and  speeches  of  the  earlier  time.     It  seems,  also, 

229 


230  Homer  to  Theocritus 

that  he  enlarged  the  license  in  scurrility  and  indecency 
which  these  sportive  bands  always  enjoyed  on  festival 
days,  by  adding  the  element  of  abusiveness  toward 
individuals,  especially  those  prominent  in  public  life. 
Such  freedom  could,  of  course,  have  developed  under 
a  popular  government,  such  as  Megara  seems  to  have 
enjoyed  in  the  sixth  century.  Susarion  introduced  his 
comus  performances  into  Attic  i,  tradition  says,  first 
at  Icaria,  the  birthplace  of  tragedy.  Out  of  the 
comus  the  comic  chorus  developed,  the  boisterous  pro- 
cession taking  shape  as  a  chorus  gradually  under  the 
influence  of  the  tragic  chorus. 

The  real  founder  of  comedy  was  Epicharmus  of 
Sicily,  a  contemporary  of  Pindar  and  ^schylus.  A 
poet  of  great  creative  power,  he  took  the  decisive  step 
of  introducing  the  plot.  Before  his  time  comic  per- 
formances had  not  advanced  beyond  the  stage  of 
a  series  of  episodes,  each  giving  a  fantastic  or  humor- 
ous situation,  but  on  subjects  unconnected  with  each 
other.  There  now  was  a  more  or  less  orderly  progres- 
sion from  one  episode  to  another,  so  that  the  comic 
subject  received  varied  illustration  in  successive 
scenes.  This  simple  unity  of  subject  was  far  from 
constituting  a  plot  in  the  strict  s.ense  of  the  term,  for 
there  was  not  necessarily  a  complication  and  a  solu- 
tion; but  the  innovation  of  Epicharmus  transformed 
a  rude  and  unliterary  series  of  burlesques  into  a  com- 
position which  had  at  least  the  elements  of  literary 
and  artistic  form.  The  comedy  of  Epicharmus  did  not 
grow  out  of  the  comus,  as  did  that  of  Attica,  but  was 
the  product  of  the  imitative  geai us  whi(^h  , has  always 
characterized  the  people  of  -apnfeilf^TtaTy.'  TherS 
never  was  a  chorus  in  this  branch  of  comedy.     The 


A  A  A   r.  j^iaM     6f  h  />  f^C 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  231 

importance  of  Epicharmus  for  the  history  of  Attic 
comedy  is  that  he  gave  the  impulse  to  the  leaders  of 
the  Attic  comus  in  the  direction  of  literary  unity — 
though  by  what  channels  this  influence  was  communi- 
cated we  do  not  know. 

For  a  long  time  the  comic  performances  in  Attica 
were  given  at  the  festivals  of  Dionysus  in  an  entirely 
unofficial  manner.  Soon  after  the  Persian  wars,  how- 
ever, they  had  assumed  such  importance  and  had 
reached  such  a  stage  of  literary  excellence  that  they 
were  admitted  to  the  official  programme  of  the  great 
festival  in  March,  the  City  Dionysia.  At  this  time  the 
principal  comic  poets,  to  whom  this  recognition  was 
largely  due,  were  Chionides  and  Magnes.  From  now 
on  comedy  steadily  increased  in  importance  and 
improved  in  technique,  conforming  itself,  so  far  as  its 
nature  would  allow,  to  the  type  of  drama  already 
established  by  tragedy.  The  number  of  actors  who 
might  be  together  on  the  scene  was  restricted  to  three 
(in  the  earlier  days,  it  is  believed,  the  number  was 
larger,  not  smaller,  as  in  tragedy),  and  the  number  of 
the  chorus  was  fixed  at  twenty-four — just  double  the 
number  employed  in  tragedy  down  to  Sophocles'  time. 
In  form  and  manner  comedy  underwent  a  gradual  but 
constant  change  from  the  time  of  the  Persian  wars. 
We  distinguish  three  great  periods:  Old  Comedy, 
down  to  about  390  B.  C. ;  Middle  Comedy,  from  390 
to  about  320  B.  C,  and  the  New  Comedy,  from  320  on. 

Attic  comedy  was  not  restricted  to  subjects  drawn 
from  mythology,  as  was  tragedy.  Any  situation  in 
politics  or  society,  any  tendency  in  literature  or  reli- 
gion or  ethics,  the  foibles  of  the  people  or  the  idiosyn- 
crasies of  individuals — in  short,  any  subject  which  the 


232  Homer  to  Theocritus 

exuberant  fantasy  of  the  poet  could  summon  up  and 
turn  to  account  for  purposes  of  burlesque,  parody,  or 
satire,  made  an  acceptable  theme  for  the  laughter- 
loving  Athenians.  There  was  the  mythological 
travesty,  in  which  the  heroes  of  mythology,  and  even 
the  gods,  were  turned  to  ridicule.  Epicharmus  first 
developed  this  field,  which  became  the  favorite  of  the 
poets  of  the  fourth  century.  A  never-failing  source  of 
amusement  were  the  parodies  of  the  tragic  poets.  The 
extant  plays  are  sprinkled  with  pathetic  lines  and 
touching  situations  from  tragedy,  so  distorted  as  to 
be  irresistibly  funny.  Imitations  of  animal  life  were 
much  in  vogue  in  the  Old  Comedy.  We  hear  of  cho- 
ruses of  snakes,  ants,  nightingales,  goats,  birds,  wasps, 
and  fishes,  and  in  one  extant  play  even  the  actors  are 
dressed  up  as  birds.  Again  we  are  transported  to 
some  Utopia,  where  everybody  is  rich  and  happy,  or 
down  to  Hades,  to  witness  the  society  of  the  illus- 
trious dead.  In  the  last  quarter  of  the  fifth  century 
political  subjects  were  most  frequently  chosen,  and  the 
utmost  license  was  tolerated  in  lampooning  leading 
statesmen  and  officials  and  in  exposing  faults  in  pub- 
lic policy  and  administration.  The  comedy  of  man- 
ners, characterized  by  good-natured  satire  upon  the 
institutions  of  society  and  the  weaknesses  of  mankind 
in  general,  came  in  with  the  New  Comedy. 

The  three  great  poets  of  the  Old  Comedy  were  Cra- 
tinus,  Eupolis,  and  Aristophanes.  The  services  of 
Cratinus  in  establishing  the  type  of  the  comedy  of  this 
period  were  of  the  first  importance.  He  was  consid- 
ered the  most  fearless  exponent  of  the  tendency  to 
criticise  and  abuse  individuals.  He  never  wearied  of 
ridiculing  the  ''onion-headed"  Pericles  and  his  policy. 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  2^;^ 

It  became  necessary,  in  fact,  for  the  state  to  restrict 
by  law  for  a  time  the  comic  privilege  of  lampooning 
officials  by  name.  Eupolis,  a  full  generation  younger 
than  Cratinus,  followed  in  the  latter's  footsteps  but 
was  more  graceful  and  finished  in  style.  Alcibiades 
was  a  favorite  object  of  attack  with  him.  By  far  the 
greatest  of  this  trio  was  Aristophanes,  who  was  born 
about  448  B.  C.  and  died  soon  after  388  B.  C.  Little 
is  known  about  his  personality,  except  as  the  informa- 
tion is  derived  from  his  works.  Eleven  comedies  of 
the  fifty-four  which  he  wrote  are  preserved  to  us — the 
only  specimens  of  Greek  comedy  which  we  possess. 
Fortunately  these  plays  are  sufficiently  representative 
in  character  to  furnish  a  good  idea  both  of  the  Old 
Comedy  as  a  whole  and  of  the  fertility  of  the  genius 
and  marvelous  poetic  power  of  the'  great  burlesque 
critic  of  Athenian  life,  whose  dominating  influence  on 
the  comic  stage  was  felt  for  more  than  forty  years. 

Before  taking  up  the  several  plays  of  Aristophanes, 
a  few  words  are  necessary  on  the  structure  of  an  Attic 
comedy  of  this  period.  In  a  general  way,  as  has  been 
said,  comedy  imitated  tragedy  in  form.  But  the 
similarity  of  structure  is  found  upon  examination  to 
be  superficial,  the  more  lusty  and  exuberant  younger 
sister  tending  always  to  break  over  the  bounds  of 
literary  art  laid  down  for  it.  This  tendency  is 
observed  in  two  general  directions.  In  the  first  place, 
the  chorus  often  drops  its  role  and  speaks  directly  to 
the  audience  as  the  mouthpiece  of  the  poet.  Such 
interludes  are  found  in  almost  every  extant  comedy, 
sometimes  twice  in  one  play,  occurring  at  some  suitable 
pause  in  the  action.  This  portion  of  a  comedy  is 
called   the  parabasis^   or   "coming   forward";  for  the 


234  Homer  to  Theocritus 

members  of  the  chorus  stripped  off  a  part  of  their  cos- 
tume, "came  forward"  toward  the  audience,  and  sang 
and  recited  to  lively  dance  movements  their  rollicking 
verses.  It  is  in  this  portion  of  a  play  that  the  poet 
gives  freest  expression  to  his  own  opinions  on  topics 
of  the  day,  explains  his  own  ideals,  and  attacks  his 
rivals  or  appeals  to  the  judges  for  a  favorable  verdict. 
In  the  second  place,  after  the  plot  has  been  fully 
developed  and  the  solution  reached,  we  often  find 
a  succession  of  short  episodes,  not  at  all  necessary  to 
the  plot,  which  illustrate  in  fantastic,  burlesque  scenes 
the  policy  or  condition  which  the  main  argument  has 
developed.  Such  episodes  are  to  be  considered  sur- 
vivals of  the  early  form  of  comedy  of  which  we  have 
already  spoken.  A  third  feature  of  comic  structure 
may  also  be  mentioned.  The  plot  is  unfolded  gener- 
ally by  two  conflicting  elements,  which  oppose  each 
other  by  vehement  debate  and  often  by  physical 
encounter.  One  side  or  the  other  wins — the  solution 
of  the  plot — and  then  the  illustrative  burlesque  episodes 
follow — the  application  of  the  victorious  policy.  This 
element  of  antagonism  is  carried  out  in  the  manage- 
ment of  the  chorus  also.  It  is  generally  conceived  of 
as  two  choruses  of  twelve  persons  each,  the  speech  or 
song  of  one  chorus  calling  forth  a  response  of  the 
same  length  and  in  the  same  manner  from  the  other. 
Taking  a  concrete  case  for  illustration,  let  us  analyze 
the  Birds,  the  most  brilliant  creation  of  the  poet.  It 
was  produced  at  the  City  Dionysia  of  414  B.  C,  and 
won  only  the  second  prize.  The  scene  is  laid  in 
a  wild,  uninhabited  country,  with  a  bunch  of  shrub- 
bery in  the  background.  Enter  two  Athenians, 
Peithetaerus    (Plausible)     and    Euelpides    (Hopeful). 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  235 

They  carry  birds  on  their  hands  to  guide  them  to 
a  region  where  they  will  be  free  from  the  troubles  of 
Athenian  life.     "For  we,"  they  say, 

Have  deemed  it  fitting  to  betake  ourselves 
To  these  our  legs,  and  make  our  person  scarce. 
Not  through  disgust  or  hatred  or  disdain 
Of  our  illustrious  birthplace,  which  we  deem 
Glorious  and  free;  with  equal  laws  ordained 
For  fine  and  forfeiture  and  confiscation, 
With  taxes  universally  diffused; 
And  suits  and  pleas  abounding  in  the  Courts. 
For  grasshoppers  sit  only  for  a  month 
Chirping  upon  the  twigs;  but  our  Athenians 
Sit  chirping  and  discussing  all  the  year, 
Perched  upon  points  of  evidence  and  law. 
Therefore  we  trudge  upon  our  present  travels. 
With  these  our  sacrificial  implements, 
To  seek  some  easier  unlitigious  place, 
Meaning  to  settle  there  and  colonize.* 

They  reach  the  home  of  Hoopoe  (represented  in 
the  scenery),  who  answers  their  summons.  The 
make-up  of  the  actor  who  represents  the  Hoopoe  was, 
of  course,  as  grotesque  as  possible,  and  was  frankly 
ridiculed  by  the  visitors:  "Heracles,  what  plumage! 
Are  you  a  bird  or  a  peacock?"  The  scarcity  of  feath- 
ers upon  his  body  is  explained  by  Hoopoe  as  due 
to  the  moulting  season.  The  life  of  the  birds,  as 
depicted  by  Hoopoe — no  need  of  money,  field  sports, 
nothing  to  do  but  banquet  in  the  gardens — seems  so 
attractive  to  Peithetaerus,  the  inventive  genius,  that 
he  proposes  a  scheme  for  the  aggrandizement  of  the 
birds:  "Build  a  city  in  the  air,  between  earth  and 
heaven;    intercept  the  savor  of  the   sacrifices  which 

'The  selections  from  Aristophanes  are  all  taken  from  the  translation 
oi  John  Hookhara  Frere  when  not  credited  to  others. 


236  Homer  to  Theocritus 

men  make  to  the  gods,  and  thus  starve  out  the  latter 
until  they  turn  over  the  sovereignty  to  the  birds." 
"Odds  nets  and  bird-lime,"  says  Hoopoe,  "that's 
a  clever  notion!  I'm  with  you  if  the  other  birds 
agree."     So  he  calls  to  his  wife.  Nightingale: 

Awake!  awake! 
Sleep  no  more,  my  gentle  mate! 
With  your  tiny  tawny  bill, 
Wake  the  tuneful  echo  shrill, 

On  vale  or  hill; 
Or  in  her  airy,  rocky  seat, 
Let  her  listen  and  repeat 

The  tender  ditty  that  you  tell, 
The  sad  lament, 
The  dire  event, 
To  luckless  Itys  that  befell 
Thence  the  strain 
Shall  rise  again, 
And  soar  amain. 
Up  to  the  lofty  palace  gate; 
Where  mighty  Apollo  sits  in  state; 
In  Jove's  abode,  with  his  ivory  lyre. 
Hymning  aloud  to  the  heavenly  choir, 
While  all  the  gods  shall  join  with  thee 
In  a  celestial  symphony. 

While  the  nightingale  trills,  Hoopoe  calls  the  birds 
together: 

Hoop!  hoop! 

Come  in  a  troop. 

Come  at  a  call, 
One  and  all, 

Birds  of  a  feather. 

All  together. 
Birds  of  a  humble,  gentle  bill. 
Smooth  and  shrill, 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  237 

Dieted  on  seeds  and  grain, 
Rioting  on  the  furrowed  plain, 
Pecking,  hopping. 
Picking,  popping, 
Among  the  barley  newly  sown. 

Birds  of  a  bolder,  louder  tone, 
Lodging  in  the  shrubs  and  bushes, 
Mavises  and  thrushes, 
On  the  summer  berries  brousing, 
On  the  garden  fruits  carousing, 
All  the  grubs  and  vermin  smousing. 

Four  stately  birds  first  make  their  appearance,  fol- 
lowed by  a  troop  of  twenty-four — the  chorus.  When 
they  learn  that  the  two  envoys  are  men,  they  are  wild 
with  rage  and  propose  to  tear  them  to  pieces  at  once : 

Form  in  rank,  form  in  rank; 
Then  move  forward  and  outflank: 
Let  me  see  them  overpowered, 
•  Hacked,  demolished,  and  devoured; 
Neither  earth,  nor  sea,  nor  sky. 
Nor  woody  fastnesses  on  high. 
Shall  protect  them  if  they  fly. 

Peithetaerus  and  Euelpides  hastily  erect  a  barricade 
of  pots  and  pans,  and  propose  to  defend  themselves; 
but  Hoopoe  arranges  a  truce.  The  chorus  retire  to 
listen  to  the  envoys: 

Back  to  the  rear!  resume  your  station, 
Ground  your  wrath  and  indignation! 
Sheathe  your  fury!  stand  at  ease, 
While  I  proceed  to  question  these: 
What  design  has  brought  them  here? 

Peithetaerus  first  proves  by  comic  instances  that 
the  birds,  and  not  the  gods,  were  originally  sovereign 
over  all.     He  then  develops  his  plan: 


238  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Then  I  move,  that  the  birds  shall  in  common  repair 

To  a  centrical  point,  and  encamp  in  the  air; 

And  intrench  and  enclose  it,  and  fortify  there: 

And  build  up  a  rampart,  impregnably  strong. 

Enormous  in  thickness,  enormously  long, 

Bigger  than  Babylon;  solid  and  tall, 

With  bricks  and  bitumen,  a  wonderful  wail. 

As  soon  as  the  fabric  is  brought  to  an  end, 

A  herald  or  envoy  to  Jove  we  shall  send, 

To  require  his  immediate  prompt  abdication; 

And  if  he  refuses,  or  shows  hesitation, 

Or  evades  the  demand;  we  shall  further  proceed, 

With  legitimate  warfare  avowed  and  decreed: 

With  a  warning  and  notices,  formally  given. 

To  Jove,  and  all  others  residing  in  heaven, 

Forbidding  them  ever  to  venture  again 

To  trespass  on  our  atmospheric  domain. 

With  scandalous  journeys,  to  visit  a  list 

Of  Alcmenas  and  Semeles;  if  they  persist, 

We  warn  them,  that  means  will  be  taken  moreover 

To  stop  their  gallanting  and  acting  the  lover. 

The  birds  enthusiastically  adopt  the  scheme.  The 
Athenians  enter  Hoopoe's  nest  in  order  to  provide 
themselves  with  plumage.  While  the  scene  is  vacant, 
the  chorus  sings  the  parabasis,  the  first  part  of  which 
consists  of  a  parody  on  the  cosmogony  current  in  the 
philosophic  speculations  of  the  day,  beginning: 

Come  on  then,  ye  dwellers  by  nature  in  darkness,  and  like 

to  the  leaves'  generations. 
That  are  little  of  might,  that  are  moulded  of  mire,  unendur- 

ing  and  shadow-like  nations, 
Poor  plumeless  ephemerals,  comfortless  mortals,  as  visions 

of  shadows  fast  fleeing. 
Lift  up  your  mind  unto  us  that  are  deathless,  and  dateless 

the  date  of  our  being: 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  239 

Us,  children  of  heaven,  ageless  for  aye,  us,  all  of   whose 

thoughts  are  eternal; 
That  ye  may  from  henceforth,  having  heard  of  us  all  things 

aright  as  to  matters  supernal. 
Of  the  being  of  birds,  and  beginning  of  gods,  and  of  streams, 

and  the  dark  beyond  reaching, 
Truthfully  knov^ring  aright,  in  my  name  bid  Prodicus  pack 

with  his  preaching. 
It  was  Chaos  and   Night  at  the   first,  and   the  blackness 

of  darkness,  and  Hell's  broad  border, 
Earth  was  not,  nor  air,  neither  heaven;  when  in  the  depths 

of  the  womb  of  the  dark  without  order 
First  thing  first-born  of  the  black-plumed  night  was  a  wind- 
egg  hatched  in  her  bosom. 
Whence  timely  with  seasons  revolving  again  sweet  Love 

burst  out  as  a  blossom, 
Gold  wings  gleaming  forth   of  his   back^  like   whirlwinds 

gustily  turning. 
He,  after  his  wedlock  with  Chaos,  whose  wings  are  of  dark- 
ness, in  Hell  broad-burning. 
For  his  nestlings  begat  him  the  race  of  us  first,  and  upraised 

us  to  light  new-lighted. 
And  before  this  was  not  the   race  of  the   gods,  until   all 

things  by  Love  were  united: 
And   of  kind   united  with  kind  by   communion  of  nature 

the  sky  and  the  sea  are 
Brought  forth,  and   the    earth   and  the  race  of   the   gods 

everlasting  and  blest.    So  that  we  are 
Far  away  the  most  ancient  of  all  things  blest. 

Swinburne. 

The  second  part  of  the  parabasis  recounts  various 
advantages  in  the  possession  of  wings — for  example: 

Nothing  can  be  more  delightful  than  the  having  of  wings  to 

wear! 
A  spectator  sitting  here,  accommodated  with  a  pair, 
Might  for  instance  (if  he  found  a  tragic  chorus  dull  and  heavy) 


24O  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Take  his  flight,  and  dine  at  home;  and  if  he  did  not  choose 

to  leave  ye, 
Might  return  in  better  humour,  when  the  weary  drawl  was  ended. 

PeithetaeruS'and  Euelpides  come  out  in  their  new 
feathers  and  decide  to  call  the  new  town  by  the  impos- 
ing name  of  Cloudcuckootown.  Then  follows  a  series 
of  short  episodes,  unnecessary  to  the  plot,  but  illus- 
trating at  least  the  annoyances  of  colonizing,  A  priest 
comes  to  perform  the  religious  rites  of  dedication. 
A  poet  produces  samples  of  his  skill  in  dedication 
odes.  A  soothsayer  peddling  oracles  is  followed  by 
a  surveyor  with  a  load  of  mathematical  instruments, 
the  surveyor  by  a  consul  from  Athens,  the  consul  by 
a  hawker  of  laws  for  colonies.  These  are  driven  out 
by  Peithetaerus,  one  after  the  other.  A  second  para- 
basis  follows,  in  which  the  chorus  gives  its  opinion 
about  certain  people  in  Athens  and  promises  the  judges 
endless  wealth  if  they  give  the  poet  the  prize. 

The  episodes  that  follow  resume  the  plot.  Short 
odes  by  the  chorus  serve  to  break  the  monotony. 
Word  is  brought  that  the  new  town  is  finished. 
A  messenger  reports  that  some  god  has  eluded  the 
sentinels.  It  proves  to  be  Iris,  a  saucy,  frightened 
soubrette,  on  her  way  to  tell  men  to  pay  up  their  sacri- 
fices long  due.  But  Peithetaerus  sends  her  back  to 
Zeus  with  an  ultimatum,  after  poking  fun  at  her  dress 
and  her  manners.  Then  come  people  from  the  earth, 
eager  to  join  the  bird-colony  —  a  parricide,  Cinesias 
(a  well-known  but  despised  poet  of  the  day)  and  an 
informer — all  of  whom  Peithetaerus  unceremoniously 
bustles  out  of  his  city.  Prometheus  sneaks  down  from 
Olympus,  all  muffled  up  and  carrying  an  umbrella, 
looking  about  him  with  fear  and  trembling: 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  241 

Pro.    Oh  dear!    If  Jupiter  should  chance  to  see  me! 

Where's  Peithetaerus?  Where?    Peith.  Why,  what's 
all  this? 

This  fellow  muffled  up?    Pro.    Do  look  behind  me; 

Is  anybody  watching?   any  gods 

Following  and  spying  after  me?    Peith.    No,  none, 

None  that  I  can  see,  there's  nobody.     But  you! 

What  are  ye?   Pro.    Tell  me,  what's  the  time  of  day? 
Peith.  Why,  noon,  past  noon;  but  tell  me,  who  are  ye?    Speak. 

Pro.    Much  past?    How  much?    Peith.   Confound  the 
fool,  I  say. 

The  insufferable  blockhead!    Pro.     How's  the  sky? 

Open  or  overcast?    Are  there  any  clouds? 
Peith.  Be    hanged!     Pro.     Then    I'll    disguise    myself    no 

longer. 
Peith.  My  dear  Prometheus!  Pro.  Hold  your  tongue,  I  beg; 

Don't  mention  my  name!    If  Jupiter  should  see  me, 

Or  overhear  me,  I  m  ruined  and  undone. 

But  now,  to  give  you  a  full,  complete  account 

Of  everythmg  that's  passing  there  in  heaven  — 

The   present  state  of  things But  first   I  'II 

trouble  you 

To  take  the  umbrella,  and  hold  it  overhead, 

Lest  they  should  overlook  us.  Peith.  What  a  thought! 

Just  like  yourself!    A  true  Promethean  thought! 

Stand  under  it,  here!    Speak  boldly;  never  fear. 

He  then  relates  that  the  gods  are  about  ready  to 
make  terms,  and  advises  him  not  to  consent  to  any 
agreement  until  Zeus  shall  formally  acknowledge  the 
supremacy  of  the  birds  by  giving  him  the  hand  of 
Sovereignty,  "a  most  delightful,  charming  girl,  Jove's 
housekeeper,  that  manages  his  matters,  serves  out  his 
thunderbolts,  arranges  everything."  Soon  three  pom- 
pous peace  commissioners  from  Olympus  arrive — Pose- 
idon, Heracles,  and  a  barbarian  god.  Peithetaerus 
bribes  Heracles  by  cooking  savory  dainties  under  his 
nose,  promising  a  dinner  for  his  vote.     The  barbarian 


242  Homer  to  Theocritus 

god's  language  cannot  be  understood  ;  so  his  vote  is 
counted  with  that  of  Heracles.  Poseidon  protests  in 
vain.  The  commissioners  have  agreed  to  give  the 
princess  Sovereignty  to  Peithetaerus  in  marriage.  The 
play  closes  with  a. wedding-song  by  the  chorus  in  cele- 
bration of  the  nuptials,  while  Peithetaerus  leads  out  his 
bride  at  the  head  of  the  procession,  brandishing  in  his 
hand  the  thunderbolt  of  the  ex-king,  Zeus,  and  singing: 

Birds  of  ocean  and  of  air, 
Hither  in  a  troop  repair, 
To  the  royal  ceremony, 
Our  triumphant  matrimony! 

Come  for  us  to  feast  and  feed  ye! 

Come  to  revel,  dance,  and  sing!  — 
Lovely  creature!    Let  me  lead  ye 

Hand  in  hand,  and  wing  to  wing. 

The  earliest  extant  play  of  Aristophanes  is  the 
Acharnians^  which  won  the  first  prize  at  the  Lenaean 
festival  in  425  B.  C.  Its  subject  is  purely  political — 
peace  with  the  Spartans,  with  whom  the  Athenians  had 
been  at  war  for  seven  years.  The  leading  character, 
Dicaeopolis,  ardently  desires  peace,  that  he  may  enjoy 
again  the  delights  of  country  life ;  for  all  this  while  the 
people  of  Attica  have  been  cooped  up  within  the  walls 
of  the  city.  Failing  to  persuade  the  assembly,  he 
makes  peace  with  the  Spartans  on  his  own  account. 
But  the  chorus  of  men  of  Acharnae,  whose  vineyards 
have  been  laid  waste  by  the  Spartans,  are  hot  for  the 
continuance  of  the  war.  They  seize  Dicaeopolis  to 
put  him  to  death,  but  he  obtains  a  cast-off,  ragged, 
tragic  costume  from  Euripides,  and  clothed  in  this 
makes  a  speech  in  which  he  wins  one-half  of  the 
chorus  to  his  views  about  the  war.      The  blessings  of 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  ^43 

peace  are  then  illustrated  in  a  succession  of  humorous 
scenes. 

The  same  theme  received  an  entirely  different 
treatment  in  the  Peace  (421  B.  C).  Trygaeus,  a  coun- 
tryman, distressed  by  the  war,  conceives  the  plan  of 
ascending  to  heaven  to  fetch  down  Peace.  The  happy 
thought  occurs  to  him  of  riding  upon  the  back  of 
a  huge  dung-beetle,  as  Bellerophon  rode  on  Pegasus 
in  a  play  of  Euripides.  Finding  the  gods  not  at  home, 
he  succeeds  in  pulling  the  goddess  Peace  out  of  a  pit 
in  which  she  has  been  imprisoned  and  in  restoring 
her  again  to  men.  The  following  charming  picture  of 
the  harvest-time  is  taken  from  one  of  the  choral  odes: 

Oh,  'tis  sweet,  when  fields  are  ringing 
With  the  merry  crickets'  singing. 
Oft  to  mark  with  curious  eye 
If  the  vine-tree's  time  be  nigh: 
Here  is  now  the  fruit  whose  birth 
Cost  a  throe  to  mother  Earth. 
Sweet  it  is,  too,  to  be  telling. 
How  the  luscious  figs  are  swelling: 
Then  to  riot  without  measure 
In  the  rich,  nectareous  treasure. 
While  our  grateful  voices  chime, — 
"Happy  season!  blessed  time!" 

Anonymous. 

At  a  later  period  in  the  war  the  poet  reverts  to  the 
same  theme  in  the  Lysistrata  (411  B.  C),  but  this  time 
he  aims  his  shafts  mainly  at  the  women  of  Athens. 
Under  the  leadership  of  a  strong-minded  woman, 
Lysistrata,  the  women  of  Greece  seize  the  acropolis  of 
Athens,  and  make  proclamation  that  they  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  their  husbands  until  peace  is 
restored  between  Athens  and  Sparta.      The  men  soon 


244"  Homer  to  Theocritus 

come  to  terms.  The  play  contains  two  choruses,  one 
of  men  and  the  other  of  women,  who  oppose  each  other 
until  the  reconciliation  is  effected.  Another  satire 
against  women,  the  Thesmophoriazusce,  was  produced  in 
the  same  year,  Euripides  coming  in  for  a  large  share 
of  the  ridicule.  The  women  of  Athens  are  represented 
as  celebrating  the  Thesmophoria,  a  festival  in  honor 
of  Demeter,  to  which  no  men  were  admitted.  Euripi- 
des, hearing  that  they  intend  to  take  action  against 
him  as  an  inveterate  calumniator  of  the  sex,  contrives 
to  smuggle  his  father-in-law  into  the  meeting  in  wom- 
an's clothes.  He  defends  Euripides  by  proving  that 
women  are  in  reality  much  worse  than  Euripides 
depicts  them.  Ttie  argument  bids  fair  to  carry  the 
day  when  the  speaker's  sex  is  discovered,  and  he  is 
rescued  with  difficulty  by  the  help  of  Euripides.  The 
play  is  crowded  wiuT  side-splitting  parodies  of  verses 
and  scenes  from  the  tragic  poet.  Here  is  a  song  by 
the  chorus  of  women: 

They're  always  abusing  the  women, 

As  a  terrible  plague  to  men: 
They  say  we're  the  root  of  all  evil, 

And  repeat  it  again  and  again; 
Of  war,  and  quarrels,  and  bloodshed, 

All  mfschief,  be  what  it  may: 
And  pray,  then,  why  do  you  marry  us, 

If  we're  all  the  plagues  you  say.? 
And  why  do  you  take  such  care  of  us, 

And  keep  us  so  safe  at  home, . 
And  are  never  easy  a  moment, 

If  ever  we  chance  to  roam? 
When  you  ought  to  be  thanking  heaven 

That  your  Plague  is  out  of  the  way  — 
You  all  keep  fussing  and  fretting  — 

"Where  is  my  Plague  to-day?" 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  245 

If  a  Plague  peeps  out  of  the  window, 

Up  go  the  eyes  of  the  men; 
If  she  hides,  then  they  all  keep  staring 

Until  she  looks  out  again. 

Collins. 

While  on  the  subject  of  Aristophanes'  comedies  on 
women,  we  may  mention  the  Parliament  of  Women 
(392  B.  C),  one  of  his  latest  productions.  The  wom- 
an's-rights  women  dress  up  as  men  and  pack  the 
assembly.  They  propose  and  carry  a  motion  placing 
the  government  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  fair  sex— 
''the  only  change  that  has  not  yet  been  tried  at 
Athens."  The  principal  reform  which  they  enact  is 
that  the  ugly  women  shall  have  the  first  choice  of  hus- 
bands. The  last  play  of  our  poet  was  the  Plutus 
{Wealth),  which  received  the  first  prize  in  388  B.  C. 
The  blind  god  of  wealth  has  his  eyesight  restored, 
and  proceeds  to  undo  the  wrong  which  he  has  formerly 
committed,  now  making  the  good  rich  and  the  wicked 
poor. 

Returning  now  to  the  earlier  plays  of  Aristophanes, 
let  us  consider  the  Knights,  with  which  he  was  victori- 
ous in  424  B.  C. — a  violent  and  bitter  attack  upon  the 
popular  demagogue  Cleon,  who  succeeded  Pericles  as 
the  leader  of  the  people's  party.  The  Athenian  popu- 
lace is  represented  as  a  testy,  selfish,  and  suspicious 
old  man,  but  easily  cajoled  if  the  proper  means  are 
employed.  Cleon  is  his  servant,  obsequious  to  him, 
but  insolent  and  overbearing  to  every  one  else. 
A  sausage-seller,  a  low,  vulgar  fellow,  bred  in  the 
slums,  succeeds,  with  the  help  of  the  chorus  of 
Athenian  knights,  in  winning  Cleon's  place  in  the  old 
man's  favor,   outbidding  his  rival  in  the  latter's  own 


246  Homer  to  Theocritus 

shameless  methods.  The  chorus  of  knights  attack 
Cleon  as  soon  as  they  enter  the  orchestra,  suiting  their 
actions  to  the  following  vigorous  words: 

Close    around    him,    and    confound    him,    the    confounder 

of  us  all. 
Pelt  him,  pummel  him,  and  maul  him;  rummage,  ransack, 

overhaul  him, 
Overbear   him    and    out -bawl    him;    bear    him    down    and 

bring  him  under. 
Bellow   like   a   burst    of    thunder,   robber!    harpy!    sink   of 

plunder! 
Rogue   and   villain!    rogue   and   cheat!    rogue    and   villain, 

I  repeat! 
Oftener  than    I    can   repeat    it,   has   the   rogue   and   villain 

cheated. 
Close   around   him   left   and    right;    spit   upon  him;    spurn 

and  smite: 
Spit  upon  him  as  you  see;  spurn  and  spit  at  him  like  me. 
But  beware,  or  he  '11  evade  ye,  for  he  knows  the  private 

track. 
Where  Eucrates  was  seen  escaping  with  the  mill  dust  on 

his  back. 

The  Knights  was  the  first  play  which  Aristophanes 
brought  out  in  his  own  name;  the  earlier  plays  he  had 
put  into  the  hands  of  older  and  more  experienced 
managers.  The  chorus  explains  the  matter  in  the 
parabasis,  which  begins  thus: 

If  a  veteran  author  had  wished  to  engage 

Our  assistance  to-day,  for  a  s'peech  from  the  stage; 

We  scarce  should  have  granted  so  bold  a  request; 

But  this  author  of  ours,  as  the  bravest  and  best, 

Deserves  an  indulgence  denied  to  the  rest. 

For  the  courage  and  vigour,  the  scorn  and  the  hate, 

With  which  he  encounters  the  pests  of  the  State; 

A  thorough-bred  seaman,  intrepid  and  warm, 

Steering  outright,  in  the  face  of  the  storm. 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  247 

But  now  for  the  gentle  reproaches  he  bore 
On  the  part  of  his  friends,  for  refraining  before 
To  embrace  the  profession,  embarking  for  life 
In  theatrical  storms  and  poetical  strife. 

He  begs  us  to  state,  that  for  reasons  of  weight, 
He  has  lingered  so  long,  and  determined  so  late. 
For  he  deemed  the  acjiiievements  of  comedy  hard, 
The  boldest  attempt  of  a  desperate  bard! 
The  Muse  he  perceived  was  capricious  and  coy, 
Though  many  were  courting  her,  few  could  enjoy. 
And  he  saw  without  reason,  from  season  to  season. 
Your  humour  would  shift  and  turn  poets  adrift. 
Requiting  old  friends  with  unkindness  and  treason, 
Discarded  in  scorn  as  exhausted  and  worn. 

In  the  Clouds  (423  B.  C.)  the  poet  attacks  the  new 
school  of  sophists  which  had  arisen  in  Athens — the 
clever  rhetorical  teachers  who  undertook  to  show  how 
a  man  by  using  their  method  might  prove  anything 
whatever.  The  play  is  a  sharp  protest  against  these 
free-thinkers,  who  were  undermining,  as  the  poet 
would  have  us  believe,  the  old-fashioned  morals  of  the 
Athenians.  Socrates,  who  was  just  coming  into 
prominence  as  an  intellectual  leader,  is  made  the 
representative  of  the  class  —  with  gross  injustice,  for 
his  aims  and  ideals,  if  not  his  methods,  were  totally 
opposed  to  those  of  the  sophists,  who  were  a  strictly 
professional  class.  But  it  served  the  poet's  purpose 
to  make  Socrates  the  butt  of  his  satire.  An  old  man 
who  is  heavily  loaded  with  his  son's  debts  applies  to 
the  thinking-shop  of  Socrates  for  lessons  in  argument, 
that  he  may  clear  off  the  debts  without  paying  a  cent. 
Socrates  is  found  suspended  in  a  basket  in  midair, 
engaged  in  speculation.  He  introduces  the  new 
student  to  the  new  goddess  of  philosophers,  the 
Clouds,  who   come   floating   into   the  orchestra  at  his 


248  Homer  to  Theocritus 

summons.  But  the  old  man  is  soon  dismissed  for  his 
stupidity,  and  sends  his  son  to  the  school  instead. 
The  young  man  proves  an  apt  pupil.  When  he  has 
finished  the  course,  he  abuses  his  father  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  latter,  enraged  at  the  outcome  of  his 
experiment  in  the  new  education,  sets  fire  to  the 
thinking-shop,  while  Socrates  within  is  "walking  in 
air  and  contemplating  the  sun,"  I  quote  the  beautiful 
entrance  song  of  the  chorus  of  Clouds,  who  come  in 
response  to  Socrates'  invitation: 

Immortal  Clouds  from  the  echoing  shore 

Of  the  father  of  streams  from  the  sounding  sea 
Dewy  and  fleet  let  us  rise  and  roar; 

Dewy  and  gleaming  and  fleet  are  we! 
Let  us  look  on  the  tree-clad  mountain-crest, 

On  the  sacred  earth  where  the  fruits  rejoice, 
On  the  waters  that  murmur  east  and  west. 

On  the  tumbling  sea  with  his  moaning  voice. 
For  unwearied  glitters  the  Eye  of  the  Air, 

And  the  bright  rays  gleam; 
Then  cast  we  our  shadows  of  mist,  and  fare 
In  our  deathless  shapes  to  glance  everywhere 
From  the  height  of  the  heavens,  on  the  land  and  air, 

And  the  Ocean  Stream. 
Let  us  on,  ye  Maidens  that  bring  the  Rain, 

Let  us  gaze  on  Pallas'  citadel, 
In  the  country  of  Cecrops  fair  and  dear. 

The  mystic  hand  of  the  holy  cell. 

Where  the  Rites  unspoken  securely  dwell, 
And  the  gifts  of  the  gods  that  know  not  stain, 

And  a  people  of  mortals  that  know  not  fear. 
For  the  temples  tall  and  the  statues  fair, 
And  the  feasts  of  the  gods  are  holiest  there; 
The  feasts  of  Immortals,  the  chaplet  of  flowers, 

And  the  Bromian  mirth  at  the  coming  of  spring, 
And  the  musical  voices  that  fill  the  hours. 

And  the  dancing  feet  of  the  maids  that  sing! 

Lang. 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  249 

The  Wasps  (422  B.  C. )  is  a  satire  directed  against 
the  passion  of  the  Athenians  for  the  law-courts.  Six 
thousand  citizens  are  said  to  have  presented  them- 
selves daily  at  the  courts  for  service  upon  the  juries,' 
for  which  they  received  a  fee.  The  pay  was  the 
object  with  the  majority  of  them,  but  the  love  of 
litigious  scenes  was  probably  the  motive  with  many. 
The  chorus  is  composed  of  men  costumed  as  wasps, 
an  allusion  to  the  acrimonious  temper  induced  by  the 
jury-habit. 

To  those  who  are  familiar  with  the  works  of  the 
Greek  tragic  poets,  the  Frogs^  which  received  the  first 
prize  in  405,  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  of  the  plays 
of  our  poet.  It  is  a  witty  but  discriminating  piece  of 
literary  criticism  directed  against  Euripides,  who  had 
died  in  the  preceding  year,  a  few  months  before 
Sophocles.  Dionysus,  the  patron  of  the  drama,  is 
represented  as  disgusted  with  the  tragic  poets  of  the 
day.  He  conceives  the  plan  of  fetching  one  of  the 
old  poets  from  Hades.  He  prefers  Sophocles,  but 
Euripides,  always  fertile  with  schemes,  is  more  likely 
to  be  able  to  find  a  way  of  escape  from  the  lower 
world.  So  he  fits  himself  out  with  the  club  and  lion's 
skin  of  Heracles,  and  starts  out  on  his  voyage  to 
the  lower  world,  first  receiving  instructions  from 
Heracles,  who  has  been  there.  On  the  way  he  meets 
a  dead  man  borne  on  a  bier,  with  whom  his  slave  tries 
to  strike  a  bargain  for  the  conveyance  of  the  luggage. 
But  the  dead  man  "would  sooner  come  to  life  again" 
than  to  accept  the  pittance  offered.  While  Charon 
is  rowing  them  across  the  Styx,  the  chorus  of  frogs 

/This  large  number  is  partly  explained  by  the  size  of  the  Athenian  jury, 
which  ranged  from  201  to  2,501  members. 


250  Homer  to  Theocritus 

chant  their  song,  with  the  famous  refrain,  brekkekekex, 
koax,  koax.  On  the  other  side  the  singing  of  the 
chorus  of  the  Initiated  ^  greets  the  travelers.  After 
a  number  of  amusing  adventures,  Dionysus  reaches 
the  house  of  Pluto,  and  learns  of  a  tremendous  con- 
tention among  the  dead.  Euripides  has  gathered 
a  party  of  rogues  and  vagabonds  together,  and  is  try- 
ing to  oust  ^schylus  from  the  seat  of  honor  assigned 
to  the  best  tragic  poet.  Sophocles  does  not  press  his 
claim;  in  fact,  when  he  first  came  down,  he  had 
kissed  ^schylus,  who  gratefully  offered  him  a  part  of 
the  seat.  Pluto  proposes  to  hold  a  public  trial  to 
decide  between  ^schylus  and  Euripides.  Dionysus 
is  installed  as  judge,  Pluto  agreeing  to  let  him  take 
back  to  earth  the  poet  whom  he  places  first,  ^schy- 
lus  at  first  demurs  to  the  plan  as  unfair  to  him, 
"because,"  he  says,  "my  poems  live  on  earth  above, 
while  his  died  with  him  and  are  here  as  witnesses  for 
him."  After  a  heated  debate  between  the  two  poets, 
and  a  test  by  weighing  their  verses,  Dionysus  decides 
in  favor  of  ^schylus.  Dionysus  then  leads  ^schylus 
away,  the  latter  giving  his  chair  to  Sophocles. 

This  song  of  the  chorus  of  Initiated  illustrates  the 
poet's  facility  m  dropping  from  the  sublime  to  the 
ridiculous: 

Raise  the  fiery  torches  high! 
Bacchus  is  approaching  nigh, 
Like  the  planet  of  the  morn 
Breaking  with  the  hoary  dawn 

On  the  dark  solemnity — 
There  they  flash  upon  the  sight; 
All  the  plain  is  blazing  bright, 

*Those  who  had  been  initiated  into  the  mysteries  at  Eleusis,  who 
enjoyed  special  privileges  in  the  world  below. 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  251 

Flushed  and  overflown  with  light; 

Age  has  cast  his  years  away, 

And  the  cares  of  many  a  day, 

Sporting  to  the  lively  lay — 

Mighty  Bacchus!  march  and  lead 

(Torch  in  hand  toward  the  mead) 

Thy  devoted  humble  chorus; 

Mighty  Bacchus  —  move  before  us! 
Keep  silence,  —  keep  peace  —  and  let  all  the  profane 
From  our  holy  solemnity  duly  refrain; 
Whose  souls,  unenlightened  by  taste,  are  obscure; 
Whose  poetical  notions  are  dark  and  impure; 

Whose  theatrical  conscience 

Is  sullied  by  nonsense; 
Who  never  were  trained  by  the  mighty  Cratinus 
In  mystical  orgies,  poetic  and  vinous; 
Who  delight  in  buffooning,  and  jests  out  of  season; 
Who  promote  the  designs  of  oppression  and  treason; 
Who  foster  sedition,  and  strife  and  debate; 
All  traitors,  in  short,  to  the  Stage  and  the  State: 
Who  surrender  a  fort,  or  in  private  export 
To  places  and  harbours  of  hostile  resort 
Clandestine  consignments  of  cables  and  pitch, — 
In  the  way  Thorycion  grew  to  be  rich 
From  a  scoundrelly  dirty  collector  of  tribute: 
All  such  we  reject  and  severely  prohibit; 
All  statesmen  retrenching  the  fees  and  the  salaries 
Of  theatrical  bards,  in  revenge  for  the  railleries 
And  jests  and  lampoons  of  this  holy  solemnity, 
Profanely  pursuing  their  personal  enmity. 
For  having  been  flouted  and  scoffed  and  scorned  — 
All  such  are  admonished  and  heartily  warned* 

We  warn  them  once, 

We  warn  them  twice, 
We  warn  and  admonish  —  we  warn  them  thrice, 

To  conform  to  the  law, 

To  retire  and  withdraw 
While  the  chorus  again,  with  the  formal  saw, 
(Fixt  and  assigned  to  the  festive  day) 
Move  to  the  measure  and  march  away. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    HISTORIANS.       HERODOTUS 

The  Late  Development  of  Prose  Writing —  The  Causes — The 
Earliest  Prose  —  Hecataeus — Herodotus — His  Life — The 
Perfection  of  his  Style  —  The  Character  of  his  History  — 
Its  Theme  —  Its  National  Feeling  —  Religious  Interpreta- 
tion of  History — The  Division  into  Books  —  Analysis  — 
Herodotus's  Fondness  for  Digressions  —  Selections :  The 
Customs  of  the  Lydians,  Persians,  Babylonians,  and  Egyp- 
tians—  The  Experiment  of  Psammetichus. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact  in  the  history  of  Greek  liter- 
ature that  literary  prose  was  not  developed  until  after 
the  great  branches  of  poetry  which  we  have  considered 
had  reached  maturity.  While  the  drama,  the  most 
perfect  and  highly  finished  form  of  poetry,  was  being 
perfected  in  Attica,  the  Greeks  of  Asia  Minor  were 
but  just  turning  their  attention  to  narrative  in  prose. 
The  first  work  of  real  literature  in  prose,  the  history 
of  Herodotus,  was  not  published  until  after  Sophocles 
had  reached  the  zenith  of  his  powers.  The  explana- 
tion of  this  phenomenon  lies  not  in  the  absence  of 
adequate  materials  for  writing,  nor  in  the  fact  that 
there  was  no  reading  public,  properly  so  called,  until 
about  the  age  of  Pericles.  The  earliest  prose  writings 
were  intended  for  oral  publication  no  less  than  the 
poetry,  and  long  before  the  earliest  prose  writer  of 
whom  we  know,  the  art  of  writing  was  freely  practiced 
throughout  the  Greek  world — a  fact  that  implies  the 
existence  of  suitable  materials  for  writing  other  than 

252 


The  Historians.     Herodotus  253 

stone,  metal,  and  wood.  The  late  rise  of  prose  was 
due  rather  to  the  perfection  which  narrative  verse  had 
early  attained,  and  to  the  dominating  influence  which 
composition  in  verse,  such  as  the  narratives  of  Homer 
and  the  practical  philosophy  of  Hesiod  and  the  elegiac 
poets,  had  acquired  among  cultivated  Greeks.  Before 
the  sixth  century  it  did  not  occur  to  any  one  who 
desired  to  address  the  public  to  use  any  other  form 
of  expression  than  verse. 

Naturally  prose  was  employed  for  certain  purposes 
long  before  it  was  used  in  literature.  Codes  of  law, 
treaties,  the  annals  of  cities  and  sanctuaries,  lists  of 
officials  and  victors  at  the  games,  were  certainly 
written  down  as  early  as  the  seventh  century.  The 
maxims  of  the  Seven  Sages,  such  as  "Know  thyself" 
and  "Nothing  in  excess,"  may  be  regarded  as  the 
beginnings  of  a  prose  literature.  The  animal  fables 
that  passed  under  the  name  of  ^sop  seem  to  have 
been  about  as  early  and  in-  prose  form.  But  the 
impulse  to  extended  composition  in  prose  was  first  felt 
by  the  lonians  of  Asia  Minor  about  the  middle  of  the 
sixth  century,  first  by  writers  on  speculative  theology 
and  natural  philosophy,  and  a  little  later  by  writers  on 
travel  and  geography.  The  style  of  these  writers  was 
crabbed  and  jerky,  and  often  obscure.  The  first 
important  name  with  which  we  meet  is  that  of  Heca- 
taeus  of  Miletus  (flourished  about  500  B.  C),  who 
wrote  a  work  entitled  Genealogies  and  a  Description  of 
the  World. 

Passing  over  the  minor  writers  whose  works  are 
lost,  we  come  to  the  "Father  of  History,"  Herodotus. 
He  was  born  about  490  B,  C,  at  Halicarnassus  in 
Caria,  a  Dorian  city  with  a  large  Ionian  element  in  its 


2  54  Homer  to  Theocritus 

population.  He  came  of  a  noble  family  of  literary 
traditions,  and  seems  to  have  inherited  a  taste  for  the 
antiquities  of  history.  When  a  little  more  than  thirty 
years  of  age,  he  was  obliged  to  leave  his  native  city  on 
account  of  political  dissensions  there,  and  for  more 
than  ten  years  lived  the  life  of  a  wanderer.  His  travels 
carried  him  north  as  far  as  Byzantium  and  the  Black 
Sea,  as  far  east  as  Babylon,  and  into  Egypt  and  the 
northern  portions  of  Africa  to  the  south.  He  also 
visited  the  principal  cities  of  the  continent  of  Greece, 
and  seems  to  have  been  often  in  Athens,  where  on 
one  occasion  he  received  a  gift  of  ten  talents  for 
a  recitation  from  his  works.  He  read  portions  of  his 
history  also  at  the  great  national  festival  at  Olympia, 
and  also  at  Sparta,  Argos,  and  Corinth.  He  made  his 
home  at  last  in  the  Athenian  colony  at  Thurii,  in 
southern  Italy,  where  he  died  about  428  B.  C. 

We  are  fortunate  in  possessing  in  its  entirety  the 
one  great  work  which  Herodotus  produced,  the  His- 
tory. It  is  written  in  the  Ionic  dialect,  and  in  a  style 
so  simple,  and  withal  so  graphic  and  entertaining,  that 
the  reader  is  forced  to  marvel  at  the  degree  of  literary 
merit  attained  in  the  first  artistic  work  in  prose  which 
Greek  literature  produced.  Certainly  no  subsequent 
Greek  historian  ever  attained  to  the  perfection  of  style 
which  Herodotus,  the  first  great  writer  of  prose  and 
the  first  historian,  seems  so  easily  to  have  reached. 
And  yet  the  work  is  rather  to  be  regarded  as  a  piece  of 
pure  literature  than  as  a  history.  "Rich  as  it  is  in  the 
materials  of  history,"  to  use  the  words  of  Professor 
Wheeler,  "it  cannot  be  history  for  the  people  of  to-day. 
It  is  better  than  that,  for  it  is  a  picture  of  what  history 
was  to  peop^*"  then  "     The  Greeks  had  not  yet  reached 


The  Historians.      Herodotus  255 

the  conception  of  what  a  history  should  be.  Herodo- 
tus was  not  a  trained  observer,  nor  did  he  make  the 
use  of  such  documents  as  existed  which  our  modern 
historical  critics  would  demand.  He  had  traveled  far 
and  wide,  keen  to  observe  the  customs  of  the  different 
peoples  whom  he  visited,  and  ever  ready  to  listen  to 
the  anecdotes  of  his  guides  and  acquaintances.  Know- 
ing no  language  but  Greek,  he  was  at  the  mercy  of  the 
dragomans,  who  were  not  more  scrupulous  then  than 
they  are  to-day.  But  he  at  least  is  careful  to  distin- 
guish between  what  he  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes  and 
what  he  had  heard  from  others.  As  a  story-teller 
Herodotus  stands  without  a  peer,  but  his  earnest  pur- 
pose was  to  be  more  than  a  story-teller. 

The  subject  which  Herodotus  chose  for  his  history 
was  the  conflict  of  the  Greeks  and  the  Barbarians 
which  culminated  in  the  great  struggle  known  as  the 
Persian  wars.  Thus  the  first  European  history  was 
a  presentation  of  the  earliest  phase  of  the  eternal  East- 
ern Question.  Herodotus  introduces  his  subject  in 
these  words: 

These  are  the  researches  of  Herodotus  of  Halicarnassus, 
which  he  publishes,  in  the  hope  of  thereby  preserving  from 
decay  the  remembrance  of  what  men  have  done,  and  of  pre- 
venting the  great  and  wonderful  actions  of  the  Greeks  and  the 
Barbarians  from  losing  their  due  meed  of  glory;  and  withal  to 
put  on  record  what  were  their  grounds  of  feud. 

His  own  native  city  was  one  of  the  early  victims  of 
this  feud,  and  his  youthful  imagination  must  have 
been  deeply  stirred  by  the  glorious  conflict  for  free- 
dom through  which  his  people  had  passed.  While  his 
extensive  travels  gave  him  a  cosmopolitan  view,  they 
did  not  diminish  the  strong  national  feeling  which  the 


256  Homer  to  Theocritus 

events  of  his  youth  had  enkindled  in  him,  as  in  all 
other  Greeks.  He  approached  his  subject,  also,  with 
something  of  the  religious  feeling  with  which  ^schy- 
lus  interpreted  the  'heroic  legends  of  Greece:  the 
hand  of  divine  providence  alone  will  explain  the 
miraculous  overthrow  of  the  enormous  power  of  Persia 
by  a  handful  of  Greeks;  the  successful  become  inso- 
lent and  overweening,  are  infatuated,  and  God  brings 
them  low.  This  thought  recurs  again  and  again,  and 
is  applied  to  Persia  in  a  speech  put  into  the  mouth  of 
a  Persian  nobleman,  Artabanus,  who  thus  addresses 
Xerxes: 

Seest  thou  how  God  with  his  lightning  smites  alway  the 
bigger  animals,  and  will  not  suffer  them  to  wax  insolent,  while 
those  of  lesser  bulk  chafe  him  not?  How  likewise  his  bolts  fall 
ever  on  the  highest  houses  and  the  tallest  trees?  So  plainly 
does  he  have  to  bring  down  everything  that  exalts  itself.  Thus 
ofttimes  a  mighty  host  is  discomfited  by  a  few  men,  when  God 
in  his  jealousy  sends  fear  or  storm  from  heaven,  and  they 
perish  in  a  way  unworthy  of  them.  For  God  allows  no  one  to 
have  high  thoughts  but  himself. 

This  old  doctrine,  which  constitutes  Herodotus'  phil- 
osophy of  history,  gives  a  dramatic  unity  to  his  story, 
which  thus  becomes  the  Tragedy  of  Xerxes. 

The  History  of  Herodotus  was  divided  into  books 
by  the  scholars  of  Alexandria,  who  assigned  to  them 
the  names  of  the  nine  Muses.  In  spite  of  the  count- 
less digressions  which  occupy  the  larger  portion  of  the 
first  six  books,  the  thread  of  the  main  narrative  is 
never  lost  from  view.  In  the  first  book,  after  present- 
ing the  mythical  conflicts  of  the  Greeks  and  the  Bar- 
barians which  culminated  in  the  Trojan  war^  he  finds 
the  first  historical  cause  of  offense  in  the  subjugation 


The  Historians.     Herodotus  257 

of  the  Ionian  cities  by  Croesus,  king  of  Lydia.  This 
leads  to  an  account  of  the  kings  of  Lydia,  the  country, 
and  its  wonderful  sights.  Croesus  is  overthrown  by 
Cyrus  the  Great,  king  of  Persia.  An  account  of  the 
foundation  of  the  empire  of  the  Medes  and  the  Per- 
sians follows,  and  the  charming  story  of  Cyrus  himself. 
The  growth  of  the  Persian  Empire  until  it  came  into 
conflict  with  Greece  may  be  considered  the  main  sub- 
ject of  the  first  six  books.  The  overthrow  of  the 
Babylonian  kingdom  and  the  death  of  Cyrus  fall  within 
the  first  book.  Cambyses  succeeded  Cyrus  on  the 
throne  and  invaded  Egypt.  This  leads  to  the  won- 
derful description  of  Egypt  which  occupies  the  second 
book.  The  third  book  tells  of  the  conquest  of  Egypt, 
the  death  of  Cambyses,  and  the  upbuilding  of  the 
empire  of  Darius,  his  successor.  The  fourth  book  is 
taken  up  by  the  campaigns  of  Darius,  with  long 
accounts  of  the  Scythians  and  Libyans.  In  the  fifth 
book,  after  a  description  of  the  Thracians,  we  come 
to  the  beginning  of  the  conflict  between  the  Persians 
and  Greeks,  which  occupies  the  sixth  book.  The 
revolt  of  the  Ionian  cities  from  Persia,  their  successful 
appeal  to  Athens  for  aid,  the  two  campaigns  of  Darius 
against  Athens,  the  second  of  which  resulted  in  the 
glorious  victory  of  Marathon,  prepare  us  for  the  life- 
and-death  struggle  depicted  in  the  last  three  books. 
In  these  Herodotus  rises  fully  to  the  grandeur  of  his 
imposing  theme.  After  describing  the  stupendous 
preparations  of  Xerxes  and  the  march  of  his  army  of 
five  millions  across  the  Hellespont  and  down  into 
Greece,  he  depicts  the  dismay  of  the  Greeks,  the 
resistance  of  the  few  brave  Spartans  at  Thermopylae, 
then  the  crushing  defeat  of  the  Persian  fleet  at  Salamis 


258  Homer  to  Theocritus 

and  the  flight  of  Xerxes,  and  finally  the  battle  of 
Plataea  and  the  rout  of  the  Persian  army  in  the  west, 
and  on  the  same  day  the  defeat  of  the  Persian  army 
in  the  east,  at  Mycale. 

Herodotus  distinctly  states  that  he  makes  a  specialty 
of  digressions  from  his  main  theme.  For  example, 
whenever  his  narrative  brings  him  to  a  new  people,  he 
invariably  turns  aside  to  describe  the  monuments  of 
their  country,  their  dress,  customs,  institutions,  his- 
tory, or  whatever  he  has  seen  or  heard  about  them 
that  may  be  of  interest.  And  he  never  fails  to  be 
interesting.  These  descriptions  are  delightful  reading 
to  us  because  of  their  charming  naivete;  by  the 
Greeks  of  his  time,  almost  entirely  unacquainted  with 
the  world  beyond  the  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean, 
they  must  have  been  listened  to  with  open-mouthed 
wonder.  In  selecting  specimen  passages  from  the 
History,  I  have  passed  over  the  strictly  historical  por- 
tions in  favor  of  these  digressions,  which  show  Herodo- 
tus in  his  best  role,  that  of  story-teller.  First  a  few 
passages  on  the  strange  customs  of  various  peoples. 
I  use  Rawlinson's  translation: 

The  Lydians  have  very  nearly  the  same  customs  as  the 
Greeks,  with  the  exception  that  these  last  do  not  bring  up  their 
girls  in  the  same  way.  So  far  as  we  have  any  knowledge,  they 
were  the  first  nation  to  introduce  the  use  of  gold  and  silver 
coin,  and  the  first  who  sold  goods  by  retail.  They  claim  also 
the  invention  ot  all  the  games  which  are  common  to  them  with 
all  the  Greeks.  These  they  declare  that  they  invented  about 
the  time  when  they  colonized  Tyrrhenia,  an  event  of  which 
they  give  the  following  account:  In  the  days  of  Atys,  the  son 
of  Manes,  there  was  great  scarcity  throughout  the  whole  land 
of  Lydia.  For  some  timt  the  Lydians  bore  the  affliction 
patiently,  but  finding  thac  it  did  not  pass  away,  they  set  to  work 


The  Historians.     Herodotus  259 

to  devise  remedies  for  the  evil.  Various  expedients  were  dis- 
covered by  various  persons;  dice  and  huckle-bones  and  ball, 
and  all  such  games  were  invented,  except  tables,  the  invention 
of  which  they  do  not  claim  as  theirs.  The  plan  adopted  against 
the  famine  was  to  engage  in  games  one  day  so  entirely  as  not 
to  feel  any  craving  for  food,  and  the  next  day  to  eat  and  abstain 
from  games.     In  this  way  they  passed  eighteen  years. — I,  94. 

It  is  also  their  (i.e.,  the  Persians')  general  practice  to  delib- 
erate upon  affairs  of  weight  when  they  are  drunk;  and  then,  on 
the  morrow,  when  they  are  sober,  the  decision  to  which  they 
came  the  night  before  is  put  before  them  by  the  master  of  the 
house  in  which  it  was  made,  and  if  it  is  then  approved  of  they 
act  on  it;  if  not,  they  set  it  aside.  Sometimes,  however,  they 
are  sober  at  their  first  deliberation,  but  in  this  case  they  always 
reconsider  the  matter  under  the  influence  of  wine 

Next  to  prowess  in  arms,  it  is  regarded  as  the  greatest  proof 
of  manly  excellence  to  be  the  father  of  many  sons.  Every 
year  the  king  sends  rich  gifts  to  the  man  who  can  show  the 
largest  number;  for  they  hold  that  number  is  strength.  Their 
sons  are  carefully  instructed,  from  their  fifth  to  their  twentieth 
year,  in  three  things  alone,  to  ride,  to  draw  the  bow,  and  to 
speak  the  truth.  Until  their  fifth  year  they  are  not  allowed  to 
come  into  the  sight  of  their  father,  but  pass  their  lives  with  the 
women.  This  is  done  that,  if  the  child  die  young,  the  father 
may  not  be  afflicted  by  its  loss.  To  my  mind  it  is  a  wise  rule. 
—I,  133,  136. 

Of  their  (i.  e.,  the  Babylonians')  customs,  whereof  I  shall  now 
proceed  to  give  an  account,  the  following  (which  I  understand 
belongs  to  them  in  common  with  the  Illyrian  tribe  of  the  Eneti) 
is  the  wisest  in  my  judgment.  Once  a  year  in  each  village  the 
maidens  of  age  to  marry  were  collected  all  together  into  one 
place;  while  the  men  stood  round  them  in  a  circle.  Then  the 
herald  called  up  the  damsels  one  by  one,  and  offered  them 
for  sale.  He  began  with  the  most  beautiful.  When  she  was 
sold  for  no  small  sum  of  money,  he  offered  for  sale  the  one  who 
came  next  to  her  in  beauty.  All  of  them  were  sold  to  be  wives. 
The  richest  of  the  Babylonians  who  wished  to  wed  bid  against 
each  other  for  the  loveliest  maidens,  while  the  humbler  wife- 


aSo  Homer  to  Theocritus 

seekers,  who  were  indifferent  about  beauty,  took  the  more 
homely  damsels  with  marriage-portions.  For  the  custom  was 
that  when  the  herald  had  gone  through  the  whole  number  of 
the  beautiful  damsels,  he  should  then  call  up  the  ugliest — 
a  cripple,  if  there  chanced  to  be  one— and  offer  her  to  the  men, 
asking  who  would  agree  to  take  her  with  the  smallest  marriage- 
portion.  And  the  man  who  offered  to  take  the  smallest  sum 
had  her  assigned  to  him.  The  marriage-portions  were  fur- 
nished by  the  money  paid  for  the  beautiful  damsels,  and  thus 
the  fairer  maidens  portioned  out  the  uglier.  No  one  was 
allowed  to  give  his  daughter  in  marriage  to  the  man  of  his 
choice,  nor  might  any  one  carry  away  the  damsel  whom  he  had 
purchased  without  finding  bail  really  and  truly  to  make  her  his 
wife;  if,  however,  it  turned  out  that  they  did  not  agree,  the 
money  might  be  paid  back.  All  who  liked  might  come,  even 
from  distant  villages,  and  bid  for  the  women.  This  was  the 
best  of  all  their  customs,  but  it  has  now  fallen  into  disuse. — 
I,  196. 

Concerning  Egypt  itself  I  shall  extend  my  remarks  to 
a  great  length,  because  there  is  no  country  that  possesses  so 
many  wonders,  nor  any  that  has  such  a  number  of  works  which 
defy  description.  Not  only  is  the  climate  different  from  that  of 
the  rest  of  the  world,  and  the  rivers  unlike  any  other  rivers, 
but  the  people  also,  in  most  of  their  manners  and  customs, 
exactly  reverse  the  common  practice  of  mankind.  The  women 
attend  the  markets  and  trade,  while  the  men  sit  at  home  at  the 
loom;  and  here,  while  the  rest  of  the  world  works  the  woof  up 
the  warp,  the  Egyptians  work  it  down;  the  women  likewise 
carry  burthens  upon  their  shoulders,  while  the  men  carry  them 
upon  their  heads.  They  eat  their  food  out  of  doors  in  the 
streets,  but  retire  for  private  purposes  to  their  houses,  giving 
as  a  reason  that  what  is  unseemly,  but  necessary,  ought  to  be 
done  in  secret,  but  what  has  nothing  unseemly  about  it,  should 
be  done  openly.  A  woman  cannot  serve  the  priestly  ofifice, 
either  for  god  or  goddess,  but  men  are  priests  to  both;  sons 
need  not  support  their  parents  unless  they  choose,  but  daughters 
must,  whether  they  choose  or  no. 

They  are  the  only  people  in  the  world — they  at  least,  and 
such  as  have  learnt  the  practice  from  them — who  use  circum- 


The  Historians.     Herodotus  261 

cision.  Their  men  wear  two  garments  apiece,  their  women  but 
one.  They  put  on  the  rings  and  fasten  the  ropes  to  sails  inside, 
others  put  them  outside.  When  they  write  or  calculate,  instead 
of  going,  like  ihe  Greeks,  from  left  to  right,  they  move  their 
hand  from  right  to>  left;  and  they  insist,  notwithstanding,  that 
it  is  they  who  go  to  the  right,  and  the  Greeks  who  go  to  the 
left.  They  have  two  quite  different  kinds  of  writing,  one  of 
which  is  called  sacred,  the  other  common. 

Medicine  is  practiced  among  them  on  a  plan  of  separation; 
each  physician  treats  a  single  disorder,  and  no  more:  thus  the 
country  swarms  with  medical  practitioners,  some  undertaking 
to  cure  diseases  of  the  eye,  others  of  the  head,  others  again  of 
the  teeth,  others  of  the  intestines,  and  some  those  which  are 
not  local.— II,  35,  36,  84. 

Before  entering  upon  his  famous  account  of  the 
Egyptians  and  their  country,  Herodotus  gives  a  descrip- 
tion of  a  curious  experiment  of  King  Psammetichus, 
which  reads  almost  like  a  report  from  a  modern 
laboratory : 

Now  the  Egyptians,  before  the  reign  of  their  king  Psam- 
metichus, believed  themselves  to  be  the  most  ancient  of 
mankind.  Since  Psammetichus,  however,  made  an  attempt 
to  discover  who  were  actually  the  primitive  race,  they  have 
been  of  opinion  that  while  they  surpass  all  other  nations,  the 
Phrygians  surpass  them,  in  antiquity.  This  king,  finding  it 
impossible  to  make  out  by  dint  of  inquiry  what  men  were  the 
most  ancient.,  contrived  the  following  method  of  discovery: 
He  took  two  children  of  the  common  sort,  and  gave  them  over 
to  a  herdsman  to  bring  up  at  his  folds,  strictly  chargmg  him  to 
let  no  one  utter  a  word  in  their  presence,  but  to  keep  them  in 
a  sequestered  cottage,  and  from  time  to  time  introduce  goats  to 
their  apartment,  see  that  they  got  their  fill  of  milk,  and  in  all 
other  respects  look  after  them.  His  object  herein  was  to 
know,  after  the  indistinct  babblings  of  infancy  were  over,  what 
word  they  would  first  articulate.  It  happened  as  he  had  antici- 
pated. The  herdsman  obeyed  his  orders  for  two  years,  and  at 
the  end  of  that  time,  on  his  one  day  opening  the  door  of  their 


262  Homer  to  Theocritus 

room  and  going  in,  the  children  both  ran  up  to  him  with  out- 
stretched arms,  and  distinctly  said  "becos."  When  this  first 
happened  the  herdsman  took  no  notice;  but  afterwards  when 
he  observed,  on  coming  often  to  see  after  them,  that  the  word 
was  constantly  in  their  mouths,  he  informed  his  lord,  and  by 
his  command  brought  the  children  into  his  presence.  Psam- 
metichus  then  himself  heard  them  say  the  word,  upon  which 
he  proceeded  to  make  inquiry  what  people  there  was  who 
called  anything  "becos,"  and  hereupon  he  learnt  that  "becos" 
was  the  Phrygian  name  for  bread.  In  consideration  of  this 
circumstance  the  Egyptians  yielded  their  claims,  and  admitted 
the  greater  antiquity  of  the  Phrygians.  That  these  were  the 
real  facts  I  learnt  at  Memphis  from  the  priests  of  Vulcan. 
The  Greeks, among  other  foolish  tales,  relate  that  Psammetichus 
had  the  children  brought  up  by  women  whose  tongues  he  had 
previously  cut  out;  but  the  priests  said  their  bringing  up  was 
such  as  I  have  stated  above.— II,  2-3. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THUCYDIDES    AND    XENOPHON 

The  Earliest  Attic  Prose  — Thucydides— His  Life-The  His- 
tory of  ^  the  Pelopomiesian  IVar— The  Plan  and  Purpose 
of  the  Historian  —  Contrast  with  Herodotus  —  Style  —  The 
Reported  Speeches  —The  Divisions  of  the  History— ^'(f/.?^- 
tions :  Contrast  of  the  Athenian  and  Spartan  Characters  — 
Extracts  from  Pericles'  Funeral  Oration  —  The  Spectators 
of  the  Naval  Battle  at  Syracuse  — Xeiiophon  — His  Life  — 
His  Historical  Writings,  the  Anabasis  and  the  Hellenica  — 
The  Essays  and  Minor  Writings  — Xenophon's  Position  in 
Greek  V:\1ex2i\.wxe  —  Selections :  The  First  Glimpse  of  the 
Sea  —  Xenophon's  Tact. 

The  lonians  produced  no  great  writer  of  prose 
literature  after  Herodotus.  After  his  death,  the  mas- 
ters in  prose  were  Athenians,  either  by  birth  or  by 
adoption,  so  long  as  Greece  was  free,  or  rather  until 
the  literary  centre  of  the  Greek-speaking  world  was 
transferred  from  Athens  to  Alexandria.  The  earliest 
extant  specimens  of  Attic  literary  prose  is  a  small 
treatise  on  the  Constitution  of  Athens^  written  about  420 
B.  C.,  and  formerly  attributed  to  Xenophon.  Next 
come  the  early  orators,  and  then  the  great  historian, 
Thucydides. 

The  little  that  we  know  about  Thucydides  is  fur- 
nished by  himself.  At  the  outbreak  of  the  Pelopon- 
nesian  war,  in  431  B.  C.,  he  was  a  man  of  maturity;  we 
may  therefore  place  the  date  of  his  birth  about  470 
B.  C.  An  Athenian  by  birth,  his  father's  family  were 
originally  Thracians,  closely  related  to  the  wife  of 
Miltiades,  the  hero  of  Marathon.     We  can  only  con- 

263 


264  Homer  to  Theocritus 

jecture  what  were  the  influences  which  surrounded  his 
youth  and  early  manhood;  but  since  his  family  was 
wealthy  and  influential,  and  he  himself  exceptionally 
endowed  by  nature,  we  may  believe  that  he  partici- 
pated fully  in  the  marvelous  and  many-sided  culture 
for  which  the  age  of  Pericles  was  distinguished.  For 
a  time  after  the  outbreak  of  the  war  he  was  one  of  the 
Athenian  generals.  In  424  B.  C.  an  event  occurred, 
however,  which  doubtless  seemed  a  heavy  misfortune 
to  him,  though  in  reality  it  was  the  turning-point  of 
his  life  and  opened  to  him  the  career  for  which  his 
talents  best  fitted  him.  While  he  was  in  command  of 
an  Athenian  fleet  off  the  Thracian  coast,  the  Spartan 
general  Brasidas  surprised  and  captured  Amphipolis, 
the  principal  Athenian  possession  in  northern  Greece. 
Thucydides  was  near  enough  to  have  prevented  the 
capture  of  the  stronghold,  but  he  lingered  in  the 
neighborhood  of  some  gold  mines  which  belonged  to 
him  and  arrived  too  late.  Whatever  the  reason  was 
for  his  delay,  the  Athenians  promptly  deprived  him  of 
his  command,  and  he  lived  in  exile  for  twenty  years, 
until  the  end  of  the  war  in  404  B.  ,C.  During  this 
time  he  followed  the  war  closely,  gathered  facts  from 
the  Spartan  as  well  as  from  the  Athenian  side,  visited 
many  important  sites,  probably  including  Sicily,  and 
thus  laboriously  and  conscientiously  got  together  the 
materials  for  his  history.      He  died  about  398  B.  C. 

The  History  of  the  Peloponnesian  War  was  the  life- 
work  of  Thucydides.  He  himself,  in  the  opening 
paragraph,  tells  us  how  he  came  to  write  it: 

Thucydides,  an  Athenian,  wrote  the  history  of  the  war  }n 
which  the  Peloponnesians  and  the  Athenians  fought  against  one 
another.     He  began  to  write  when  they  first  took    up    arms, 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon  265 

believing  that  it  would  be  great  and  memorable  above  any  pre- 
vious war.  For  he  argued  that  both  states  were  then  at  the 
full  height  of  their  military  power,  and  he  saw  the  rest  of 
the  Hellenes  either  siding  or  intending  to  side  with  one  or 
other  of  them.  No  movement  ever  stirred  Hellas  more  deeply 
than  this;  it  was  shared  by  many  of  the  Barbarians,  and  might 
be  said  even  to  afifect  the  world  at  large. 

Thucydides  did  not  underestimate  the  magnitude 
of  the  task  to  which  he  applied  himself,  nor  did  he 
approach  it  in  the  uncritical  spirit  of  Herodotus. 
These  are  his  own  memorable  words,  which  sound  the 
keynote  both  to  the  form  and  style  in  which  he  com- 
posed his  history,  and  to  his  high  ideal  of  the  scope 
and  method  of  historical  inquiry: 

"Of  the  events  of  the  war  I  have  not  ventured  to  speak  from 
any  chance  information,  nor  according  to  any  notion  of  my 
own;  I  have  described  nothing  but  what  I  either  saw  myself  or 
learned  from  others  of  whom  I  made  the  most  careful  and 
particular  inquiry.  The  task  was  a  laborious  one,  because 
eye-witnesses  of  the  same  occurrences  gave  different  accounts 
of  them,  as  they  remembered  or  were  interested  in  the  actions 
of  one  side  or  the  other.  And  very  likely  the  strictly  historical 
character  of  my  narrative  may  be  disappointing  to  the  ear. 
But  if  he  who  desires  to  have  before  his  eyes  a  true  picture  of 
the  events  which  have  happened,  and  of  the  like  events  which 
may  be  expected  to  happen  hereafter  in  the  order  of  human 
things,  shall  pronounce  what  I  have  written  to  be  useful,  then 
I  shall  be  satisfied.  My  history  is  an  everlasting  possession, 
not  a  prize  composition  which  is  heard  and  forgotten." 

In  these  last  words  we  may  detect  a  covert  criticism 
of  Herodotus,  who  delighted  in  anecdotes  and  nar- 
rations "pleasing  to  the  ear."  Thucydides  sedulously 
avoids  digressions  from  his  theme,  though  he  goes 
aside  two  or  three  times  to  set  right  a  false  popular 
tradition.     We  should  gladly  have  learned  from  him 


266  Homer  to  Theocritus 

something  about  the  great  literary,  artistic,  and  social 
movements  in  Athens,  or  about  the  personality  of  the 
great  men  of  the  day;  but  he  confines  himself  strictly 
to  the  facts  of  political  history.  In  interpreting  these 
facts  he  has  no  theory  of  his  own  to  expound.  Destiny 
and  the  gods  play  no  part  with  him.  He  deals  with  the 
actions  of  men  and  the  motives  which  actuate  them. 
Nor  is  he  deceived  by  the  false  motives  which  partisans 
assign  to  their  own  side.  The  Spartans  professed  to 
desire  to  free  Greece  from  the  tyranny  of  the  Athenian 
Empire.  "The  real,  though  unavowed,  cause,"  says 
Thucydides,  "I  believe  to  have  been  the  growth  of  the 
Athenian  power,  which  terrified  the  Lacedaemonians 
and  forced  them  into  war."  Again,  with  reference  to 
the  Sicilian  expedition,  he  says  that  the  Athenians 
"virtuously  professed  that  they  were  going  to  assist 
their  own  kinsmen  and  their  newly  acquired  allies,  but 
the  simple  truth  was  that  they  aspired  to  the  empire 
of  Sicily. "  Unincumbered,  therefore,  by  preconceived 
theories  of  his  own,  and  ren'-^-kably  free  from  partisan 
bias,  with  the  sole  purpose  of  setting  forth  the  facts 
concerning  a  war  of  momentous  importance  to  the 
Greeks,  not  as  an  entertainment,  but  as  a  "possession 
forever,"  Thucydides  tells  the  tragic  story  of  the 
downfall  of  Athens  with  a  calm  but  vigorous  eloquence, 
a  sincerity  of  purpose,  and  a  moral  elevation  of  tone 
that  place  him  at  once  upon  the  level  of  the  world's 
greatest  minds.  He  is  justly  entitled  to  be  called  the 
first  critical  historian,  the  first  philosopher  of  history, 
whom  Greece  and  Europe  have  produced. 

The   history   of   Thucydides  was  the    first    serious 
attempt   in  Attic  prose.     We  cannot  expect,  and  we 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon      267 

do  not  find,  the  perfection  of  style  reached  by  Isocrates 
Dr  Plato  in  the  next  generation.  Rhetoric  was  just 
beginning  to  be  cultivated;  neither  the  diction  nor  the 
jtyle  suitable  to  prose  discourse  had  as  yet  been  devel- 
)ped.  We  can  see  that  Thucydides  struggled  with  the 
anguage  to  make  it  the  appropriate  and  adequate 
vehicle  of  his  thought.  He  succeeds  best  in  the  simple 
larration  of  events,  but  when  he  begins  to  generalize 
ind  to  indulge  in  philosophical  reflections  he  often 
becomes  obscure.  Such  reflections  and  generalizations 
le  usually  embodies  in  the  speeches  which  he  attributes 
0  the  actors  in  his  story.  This  is  a  peculiar  feature 
)f  his  history,  in  which  the  later  historians  of  Greece 
ind  Rome  imitated  him.  It  would  seem  that  he  felt 
)bliged,  in  giving  a  faithful  recital  of  events,  to  relate 
vhat  generals  and  statesmen  said,  as  well  as  what 
hey  did.  Public  speaking  was  so  important  a  part  of 
he  political  life  of  the  day  that  it  could  not  be  over- 
ooked  in  an  historical  narrative.  Thucydides  explains 
lis  position  in  this  matter:^* As  to  the  speeches  which 
vere  made  either  before  or  during  the  war,  it  was  hard 
or  me,  and  for  others  who  reported  them  to  me,  to 
•ecollect  the  exact  words.  I  have  therefore  put  into 
:he  mouth  of  each  speaker  the  sentiments  proper  to 
;he  occasion,  expressed  as  I  thought  he  would  be 
ikely  to  express  them,  while  at  the  same  time 
[  endeavored,  as  nearly  as  I  could,  to  give  the  general 
Durport  of  what  was  actually  said."  The  result  of 
;his  practice  was  to  make  the  speeches  a  sort  of  rhe- 
:orical  exercise,  in  which  the  writer  tried  to  represent 
:he  character  and  motives,  if  not  the  exact  language, 
)f  each  speaker.      In  the  speeches,  accordingly,  we  are 


268  Homer  to  Theocritus  '' 

apt  to  find  the  writer's  own  judgments  of  men  and 
events,  his  diagnosis  of  situations,  and  his  critical 
estimate  of  causes  and  effects. 

The  History  of  the  Peloponnesian  War  was  left  \ 
incomplete  at  the  author's  death.  It  was  his  intention  j 
to  give  a  complete  account  of  the  war  from  its  begin-  \ 
ning,  in  431  B.  C,  to  the  fall  of  Athens,  in  404  B.  C. ;  j 
but  the  story  breaks  off  abruptly  at  the  end  of  the  \ 
twenty-first  year.  The  work  has  come  down  to  us  ] 
divided  into  eight  books,  but  the  divisions  were  not  i 
made  by  Thucydides.  After  the  introductory  chapters,  ! 
in  which  he  compares  the  magnitude  of  this  war  with  : 
the  other  great  wars  which  have  stirred  Hellas,  j 
"magnified  by  the  exaggerated  fancies  of  the  poets,"  | 
he  takes  up  the  causes  which  led  to  the  terrific  strug- | 
gle  between  Athens  and  Sparta,  and  then  proceeds  to  } 
give  the  events  of  the  war  in  chronological  order  by  ' 
campaigns.  The  work  falls  into  three  main  divisions.  ] 
The  first  four  books  and  a  part  of  the  fifth  bring  the  \ 
story  down  to  the  peace  of  Nicias,  in  421  B.  C.  The  j 
next  three  books  cover  the  eight  years  of  the  doubtful  ; 
truce,  in  which  Athens  and  Sparta  were  not  engaged  in  ''\ 
open  hostilities,  but  war  raged  in  the  Peloponnesus  i 
between  Argos  and  Sparta,  while  Athens  was  active  ] 
in  fostering  the  quarrel  and  in  strengthening  herl 
empire  on  the  sea.  Finally,  from  415  to  413,  Athens- 
engaged  in  the  disastrous  expedition  against  Sicily,  j 
The  account  of  this  expedition  which  Thucydides  gives  \ 
in  a  marvelous  piece  of  writing.  The  eighth  book  ; 
begins  the  third  part  of  the  war,  the  renewal  of  fight- 1 
ing  between  Athens  and  Sparta.  | 

From  the  following  selections  from  the  history,  in  i 
the  admirable  translation  of  Jowett,  some  idea  of  the; 


Thucydldes  and  Xenophon      269 

qualities  of  Thucydldes'  style  in  narrative,  description, 
analysis  of  character,  and  in  speech-writing,  may  be 
gained.  The  first  selection,  on  the  contrast  of  the 
Athenian  and  Spartan  characters,  is  taken  from 
a  speech  put  in  the  mouth  of  the  Corinthian  envoys  to 
Sparta,  who  urge  an  alliance  against  Athens. 

And  you  have  never  considered  what  manner  of  men  are 
these  Athenians  with  whom  you  will  have  to  fight,  and  how 
utterly  unlike  yourselves.  They  are  revolutionary,  equally 
quick  in  the  conception  and  in  the  execution  of  every  new 
plan;  while  you  are  conservative — careful  only  to  keep  what 
you  have,  originating  nothing,  and  not  acting  even  when  action 
is  most  urgent.  They  are  bold  beyond  their  strength;  they  run 
risks  which  prudence  would  condemn;  and  in  the  midst  of 
misfortune  they  are  full  of  hope.  Whereas  it  is  your  nature, 
though  strong,  to  act  feebly;  when  your  plans  are  most  prudent, 
to  distrust  them;  and  when  calamities  come  upon  you,  to  think 
that  you  will  never  be  delivered  from  them.  They  are  impetu- 
ous, and  you  are  dilatory;  they  are  always  abroad,  and  you  are 
always  at  home.  For  they  hope  to  gain  something  by  leaving 
their  homes;  but  you  are  afraid  that  any  new  enterprise  may 
imperil  what  you  have  already.  When  conquerors  they  pursue 
their  victories  to  the  utmost;  when  defeated,  they  fall  back 
the  least.  Their  bodies  they  devote  to  their  country  as  though 
they  belonged  to  other  men;  their  true  self  is  their  mind,  which 
is  most  truly  their  own  when  employed  in  her  service.  When 
they  do  not  carry  out  an  intention  which  they  have  formed, 
they  seem  to  themselves  to  have  sustained  a  personal  bereave- 
ment; when  an  enterprise  succeeds,  they  have  gained  a  mere 
instalment  of  what  is  to  come;  but  if  they  fail,  they  at  once 
conceive  new  hopes,  and  so  fill  up  the  void.  With  them  alone 
to  hope  is  to  have,  for  they  lose  not  a  moment  in  the  execution 
of  an  idea.  This  is  the  life-long  task,  full  of  danger  and  toil, 
which  they  are  always  imposing  upon  themselves.  None  enjoy 
their  good  things  less,  because  they  are  always  seeking  for 
more.  To  do  their  duty  is  their  only  holiday,  and  they  deem 
the  quiet  of  inaction  to  be  as  disagreeable  as  the  most  tiresome 


270  Homer  to  Theocritus 

business.  If  a  man  should  say  of  them,  in  a  word,  that  they 
were  born  neither  to  have  peace  themselves  nor  to  allow  peace 
to  other  men,  he  would  simply  speak  the  truth.— I,  70. 

I  quote  next  two  extracts  from  the  magnificent 
funeral  oration  of  Pericles,  delivered  over  the  bodies 
of  the  Athenian  soldiers  who  fell  in  the  first  campaign 
of  the  war: 

To  sum  up:  I  say  that  Athens  is  the  school  of  Hellas,  and 
that  the  individual  Athenian  in  his  own  person  seems  to  have 
the  power  of  adapting  himself  to  the  most  varied  forms  of  action 
with  the  utmost  versatility  and  grace.  This  is  no  passing  and 
idle  word,  but  truth  and  fact;  and  the  assertion  is  verified  by 
the  position  to  which  these  qualities  have  raised  the  state.  For 
in  the  hour  of  trial  Athens  alone  among  her  contemporaries  is 
superior  to  the  report  of  her.  No  enemy  who  comes  against 
her  is  indignant  at  the  reverses  which  he  sustains  at  the 
hands  of  such  a  city;  no  subject  complains  that  his  masters 
are  unworthy  of  him.  And  we  shall  assuredly  not  be  without 
witnesses;  there  are  mighty  monuments  of  our  power  which 
will  make  us  the  wonder  of  this  and  of  succeeding  ages;  w:e 
shall  not  need  the  praises  of  Homer  or  of  any  other  panegyrist 
whose  poetry  may  please  for  the  moment,  although  his  repre- 
sentation of  the  facts  will  not  bear  the  light  of  day.  For  we 
have  compelled  every  land  and  every  sea  to  open  a  path  for 
our  valour,  and  have  everywhere  planted  eternal  memorials  of 
our  friendship  and  of  our  enmity.  Such  is  the  city  for  whose 
sake  these  men  nobly  fought  and  died;  they  could  not  bear  the 
thought  that  she  might  be  taken  from  them;  and  every  one  of 
us  who  survive  should  gladly  toil  on  her  behalf 

I  would  have  you  day  by  day  fix  your  eyes  upon  the  great- 
ness of  Athens,  until  you  become  filled  with  the  love  of  her; 
and  when  you  are  impressed  by  the  spectacle  of  her  glory, 
reflect  that  this  empire  has  been  acquired  by  men  who  knew 
their  duty  and  had  the  courage  to  do  it,  who  in  the  hour  of 
conflict  had  the  fear  of  dishonour  always  present  to  them,  and 
who,  if  ever  they  failed  in  an  enterprise,  would  not  allow  their 
virtues  to  be  lost  to  their  country,  but  freely  gave  their  lives  to 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon      Iji 

her  as  the  fairest  offering  which  they  could  present  at  her  feast. 
The  sacrifice  which  they  collectively  made  was  individually 
repaid  to  them;  for  they  received  again,  each  one  for  himself, 
a  praise  which  grows  not  old,  and  the  noblest  of  all  sepul- 
chres—  I  speak  not  of  that  in  which  their  remains  are  laid, 
but  of  that  in  which  their  glory  survives,  and  is  proclaimed 
always  and  on  every  fitting  occasion  both  in  word  and  deed. 
For  the  whole  earth  is  the  sepulchre  of  famous  men;  not  only 
are  they  commemorated  by  columns  and  inscriptions  in  their 
own  country,  but  in  foreign  lands  there  dwells  also  an  unwritten 
memorial  of  them,  graven  not  on  stone  but  in  the  hearts  of 
men.— II,  41-43. 

In  the  year  413  B.  C.  the  Athenian  fleet,  in  the  har- 
bor of  Syracuse,  engaged  in  a  final  battle  with  the 
Syracusan  fleet  and  was  defeated.  The  men  on  shore 
watched  the  conflict  with  fearful  anxiety: 

While  the  naval  engagement  hung  in  the  balance  the  two 
armies  on  shore  had  great  trial  and  conflict  of  souls.  The 
Sicilian  soldier  was  animated  by  the  hope  of  increasing  the 
glory  which  he  had  already  won,  while  the  invader  was  tor- 
mented by  the  fear  that  his  fortunes  might  sink  lower  still. 
The  last  chance  of  the  Athenians  lay  in  their  ships,  and  their 
anxiety  was  dreadful.  The  fortune  of  the  battle  varied;  and 
it  was  nt)t  possible  that  the  spectators  on  the  shore  should  all 
receive  the  same  impression  o?  it.  Being  quite  close  and 
having  different  points  of  view,  they  would  some  of  them  see 
their  own  ships  victorious;  their  courage  would  then  revive, 
and  they  would  earnestly  call  upon  the  gods  not  to  take  from 
them  their  hope  of  deliverance.  But  others,  who  saw  their 
ships  worsted,  cried  and  shrieked  aloud,  and  were  by  the  sight 
alone  more  utterly  unnerved  than  the  defeated  combatants 
themselves.  Others  again,  who  had  fixed  their  gaze  on  some 
part  of  the  struggle  which  was  undecided,  were  in  a  state  of 
excitement  still  more  terrible;  they  kept  swaying  their  bodies 
to  and  fro  in  an  agony  of  hope  and  fear  as  the  stubborn  conflict 
went  on  and  on;  for  at  every  instant  they  were, all  but  saved  or 
all  but  lost.   And  while  the  strife  hung  in  the  balance  you  might 


!272  Homer  to  Theocritus 

hear  in  the  Athenian  army  at  once  lamentation,  shouting,  cries 
of  victoryor  defeat,  and  all  the  various  sounds  which  are  wrung 
from  a  great  host  in  extremity  of  danger.  Not  less  agonizing 
were  the  feelings  of  those  on  board.  At  length  the  Syracusans 
and  their  allies,  after  a  protracted  struggle,  put  the  Athenians 
to  flight,  and  triumphantly  bearing  down  upon  them,  and 
encouraging  one  another  with  loud  cries  and  exhortations, 
drove  them  to  land.  Then  that  part  of  the  navy  which  had 
not  been  taken  in  the  deep  water  fell  back  in  confusion  to  the 
shore,  and  the  crews  rushed  out  of  the  ships  into  the  camp. 
And  the  land  forces,  no  longer  now  divided  in  feeling,  but 
uttering  one  universal  groan  of  intolerable  anguish,  ran,  some 
of  them  to  save  the  ships,  others  to  defend  what  remained  of 
the  wall;  but  the  greater  number  began  to  look  to  themselves 
and  to  their  own  safety. — VII,  71. 

Xenophon,  the  only  other  historian  of  the  classical 
period  whose  works  are  extant,  was  born  near  Athens 
about  431  B.  C.  In  his  youth  he  came  under  the  influ- 
ence of  Socrates,  who  inspired  in  him  feelings  of  pro- 
found admiration  and  affection.  A  few  years  after  the 
fall  of  Athens,  Xenophon  received  an  invitation  from 
a  friend  to  take  service  under  Cyrus,  a  Persian  prince, 
who  was  gathering  a  force  of  Greek  mercenaries  to  aid 
him  in  an  attempt  to  wrest  the  throne  from  his  brother 
Artaxerxes.  After  consulting  with  Socrates  and  the 
oracle  at  Delphi,  Xenophon  joined  the  expedition,  an 
account  of  which  he  afterward  gave  in  the  Anabasis. 
This  adventure  occupied  him  from  401  to  399,  the 
year  in  which  Socrates  was  put  to  death.  On  his  return 
to  Asia  Minor  he  served  under  the  Spartan  king, 
Agesilaus,  for  whose  character  and  military  ability  he 
conceived  a  great  admiration.  He  not  only  wrote  an 
encomium  upon  him,  the  Agesilaus,  but  even  fought 
under  him  with  the  Spartan  forces  against  his  own 
country  at  the  battle  of  Coronea  in  394  B.  C.     For 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon      273 

this  act  of  treason  he  was  formally  banished  from 
A.thens.  He  had  long  been  unfriendly  to  the  extreme 
democracy  of  Athens  and  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of 
the  Spartan  character  and  government,  on  which  he 
^vrote  the  laudatory  essay  entitled  the  Polity  of  the 
Lacedcemonians.  The  unjust  condemnation  and  death 
3f  Socrates  still  further  alienated  him  from  his  native 
:ity.  Retiring  to  an  estate  near  Olympia,  granted  him 
by  the  Spartans  for  his  services  to  their  cause,  he 
devoted  himself  to  the  pleasures  of  country  life  and  to 
literary  work.  After  some  years  the  turn  of  political 
svents  deprived  him  of  his  estate,  and  he  took  up  his 
residence  in  Corinth,  where  he  died  soon  after  357 
B.  C.  Although  the  decree  of  banishment  from 
Athens  was  revoked,  he  seems  not  to  have  cared  to 
make  it  his  home  again. 

The  chief  historical  works  of  Xenophon  are  the  Hel- 
lenica  and  the  Anabasis.  In  the  former  he  takes  up 
the  narrative  of  Thucydides,  and  brings  the  account 
of  the  Peloponnesian  war  to  a  close  at  the  end  of  the 
second  book.  In  the  other  five  books  he  gives  the 
history  of  Greece  down  to  the  battle  of  Mantinea,  in 
362  B.  C.  The  work  is  valuable  as  our  principal  source 
of  information  on  the  history  of  this  period,  but  in 
many  respects  falls  short  of  what  a  history  should  be, 
the  prejudice  of  its  author  in  favor  of  Sparta  constantly 
cropping  out.  Many  important  facts  are  omitted,  and 
the  story  is  not  told  in  an  attractive  manner.  Xeno- 
phon was  far  from  being  a  worthy  successor  to  Thucy- 
dides as  an  historian.  The  Anabasis^  on  the  other 
hand,  though  dealing  with  an  episode  of  minor  inter- 
est in  itself,  gives  us  a  much  better  idea  of  Xenophon's 
ability  as  a  writer.     The  author's  own  participation  in 


274                   Homer  to  Theocritus  ' 

the  expedition  of  Cyrus  lends  the  narrative  the  charm  ! 

of  a  personal   experience.     The    title,    which    means  { 

'"''The  March  Inland,^'  strictly  applies  only  to  the  first  1 

part  of  the  work.      After  Cyrus  had  been  slain  in  battle  \ 

near  Babylon,  the  Greek  troops,  numbering  ten  thou-  \ 

sand,   began  their  retreat.      The  story  of  the  retreat  \ 

occupies  the  larger  part  of  the  book,  and  is  by  far  the  \ 

more   interesting.      When   most   of   the  Greek  leaders  \ 

had  been  slain  by  treachery,  Xenophon,  who  had  not  \ 

been  attached  to  the  expedition  in  an  official  capacity  ' 

hitherto,   raUied  the   surviving    officers    and   virtually  j 
assumed  command.     It  was  mainly  due  to  his  ability 
as  a  general,  his  resourcefulness  in  critical  situations, 

his   imperturbable   coolness  and  cheerfulness,  and  his  \ 

Athenian  readiness  in  persuasive  oratory,  that  the  ten  \ 

thousand  made  their  way  through  Kurdistan,  Armenia,  ; 

and  Georgia  to  the  Black  Sea.      After  further  adven-  j 

tures  in  Byzantium  and  Thrace,  the  remnant  of  the  j 

army,  now  reduced  to  six  thousand,  was  incorporated  ! 

in  a  Spartan  army  operating  in  the  Troad,  while  Xeno-  i 

phon  attached  himself  to  the  staff  of  the  Spartan  king  j 

Agesilaus.  j 

Besides  these  two  historical  works,  Xenophon  wrote  «| 

a  number  of  essays,  two  of  which,  the  Agesilaus  and  v 

the  Polity  of  the    LacedcEmonians^    have   already   been  ■; 

mentioned.      In    the    Memorabilia    or    Recollections    of  \ 

Socrates^  he  vindicates  the  character  and  teachings  of  ' 

his  master.      Defending  him  first  against  the  charges  j 

brought  against  Socrates  at  the  trial,  he  exhibits  what  \ 

kind  of  a  man  he  was  by  reporting  his  conversations  | 

with  various  men  on  many  subjects.      This   work   is  | 

valuable  for  the  information  which  it  gives  about  the  \ 

daily  life  of  Socrates  and  the  character  of  his  teach-  \ 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon      275 

ings,  but  is  not  a  great  piece  of  literature.  Socrates 
figures  in  two  other  essays,  the  Symposium  and  the 
treatise  on  Domestic  Economy.  In  the  former  Socrates 
is  represented  as  the  principal  guest  at  a  typical 
Athenian  banquet,  which  is  enlivened  by  his  conversa- 
tion and  the  performances  of  jugglers  and  dancers — 
a  charming  picture.  In  the  latter  Socrates  discourses 
on  domestic  affairs,  and  relates  an  interesting  conver- 
sation with  a  newly  married  Athenian,  who  explains 
the  method  by  which  he  broke  in  and  trained  in  house- 
wifely virtues  his  girl-wife  of  fifteen.  The  Education 
of  Cyrus  (Cyrus  the  Great,  not  the  young  prince  for 
whom  Xenophon  had  fought)  is  an  idealized  picture, 
not  a  biography,  of  a  perfect  prince  and  ruler,  with 
enough  of  local  color  to  lend  verisimilitude  to  the 
account.  It  is  the  earliest  attempt  at  an  historical 
romance,  and  contains  the  first  love  story  in  European 
prose  literature.  We  have,  besides  the  above,  a  few 
minor  essays,  the  more  interesting  of  which  are  the 
treatises  On  Horsemanship  and  On  Hunting. 

Xenophon  does  not  hold  an  exalted  position  in  the 
history  of  Greek  literature,  although  there  is  much  to 
admire  in  his  character  and  in  his  writings.  He  had 
neither  the  critical  ability  nor  the  intellectual  and 
moral  force  to  be  a  great  historian,  although  he  was 
a  careful  observer  and  a  fair  judge  of  character.  An 
Athenian  by  birth  and  education,  he  became  alienated 
from  his  own  country  and  people  and  adopted  Spartan 
views.  The  events  of  contemporary  history  and  the 
character  of  the  leading  men  of  the  time  were  judged 
by  him  with  a  frankly  avowed  Spartan  bias.  His  writ- 
ings seem  to  have  been  generally  admired  in  antiquity, 
not  for  purity  of  Attic  style,  but  for  their  straightfor- 


276  Homer  to  Theocritus 

ward  simplicity  and  grace — the  words  of  a  man  of 
letters  who  was  also  a  man  of  action.  The  story  told 
in  the  Anabasis  awakened  the  Greeks  to  the  essential 
weakness  of  the  great  Persian  Empire,  and  taught  them 
that  the  terrible  power  with  which  they  had  once 
fought,  and  to  which  the  several  states  had  since 
become  accustomed  to  look  for  protection,  might 
crumble  before  the  attack  of  a  well-organized,  though 
numerically  inferior,  foe.  A  later  Greek  writer  coined 
the  saying:  "Alexander  the  Great  would  not  have  been 
great  had  not  Xenophon  been.  "  Xenophon's  greatest 
merit  is  that  he  was  an  entertaining  writer  on  a  variety 
of  subjects,  furnishing  useful  information  and  stand- 
ing for  all  that  was  esteemed  noble  and  manly  in  char- 
acter and  conduct.  He  was  the  earliest  essayist  of 
Greece,  and  the  first  writer  who  employed  the  dialogue 
form  in  literature. 

No  passage  in  the  Anabasis  is  more  famous  than  the 
description  of  the  excitement  and  joy  of  the  Greek 
troops  when,  after  their  long  and  perilous  march 
through  an  unknown  and  hostile  country,  after  the 
severe  privations  and  sufferings  to  which  many  of 
their  number  had  succumbed,  they  at  last  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  sea.      Dakyn's  translation  is  used: 

On  the  fifth  day  they  reached  the  mountain,  the  name  of 
which  was  Theches.  No  sooner  had  the  men  in  front  ascended 
it  and  caught  sight  of  the  sea  than  a  great  cry  arose,  and 
Xenophon,  with  the  rearguard,  catching  the  sound  of  it,  con- 
jectured that  another  set  of  enemies  must  surely  be  attacking 
in  front;  for  they  were  followed  by  the  inhabitants  of  the 
country,  which  was  all  aflame;  indeed  the  rearguard  killed  some 
and  captured  others  alive  by  laying  an  ambuscade;  they  had 
taken  also  about  twenty  wicker  shields,  covered  with  the  raw 
hides  of  shaggy  oxen.     But  as  the  shout  became  louder  and 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon      277 

nearer,  and  those  who  from  time  to  time  came  up  began  racing 
at  the  top  of  their  speed  towards  the  shouters,  and  the  shouting 
continually  recommenced  with  yet  greater  volume  as  the  num- 
bers increased,  Xenophon  settled  in  his  mind  that  something 
extraordinary  must  have  happened,  so  he  mounted  his  horse, 
and  taking  with  him  Lycius  and  the  cavalry,  he  galloped  to 
the  rescue.  Presently  they  could  hear  the  soldiers  shouting 
and  passing  on  the  joyful  word,  "The  sea,  the  sea!  "  There- 
upon they  began  running,  rearguard  and  all,  and  the  baggage 
animals  and  horses  came  galloping  up.  But  when  they  had 
reached  the  summit,  then  indeed  they  fell  to  embracing  one 
another  —  generals  and  officers  and  all — and  the  tears  trickled 
down  their  cheeks. 

Anabasis,  IV,  7. 

Xenophon's  tact  in  dealing  with  men  is  illustrated 
in  the  following  selection.  The  Greek  army,  after  it 
had  been  safely  brought  out  of  Asia,  was  filled  with 
mutinous  murmurings  against  its  leaders.  A  trial  was 
instituted  against  them,  and  some  of  them  were  fined. 
It  will  be  observed  that  Xenophon  always  refers  to 
himself  in  the  third  person,  and  that  quite  without 
affectation. 

Against  Xenophon  a  charge  was  brought  by  certain  people, 
who  asserted  that  they  had  been  beaten  by  him,  and  framed  the 
indictment  as  one  of  personal  outrage  with  violence.  Xeno- 
phon got  up  and  demanded  that  the  first  speaker  should  state 
"where  and  when  it  was  he  had  received  these  blows."  The 
other,  so  challenged,  answered,  "  When  we  were  perishing  of 
cold  and  there  was  a  great  depth  of  snow."  Xenophon  said: 
"  Upon  my  word,  with  weather  such  as  you  describe,  when  our 
provisions  had  run  out,  when  the  wine  could  not  even  be  smelt, 
when  numbers  were  dropping  down  dead  beat,  so  acute  was 
the  suffering,  with  the  enemy  close  on  our  heels;  certainly,  if 
at  such  a  season  as  that  I  was  guilty  of  outrage,  I  plead 
guilty  to  being  a  more  outrageous  brute  than  the  ass,  which  is 
too  wanton,  they  say,  to  feel  fatigue.  Still,  I  wish  you  would 
tell  us,"  said  he,  "what  led  to  my  striking  you?     Did  I  ask 


278 


Homer  to  Theocritus 


you  for  something,  and,  on  your  refusing  it  to  me,  did  I 
proceed  to  beat  you?  Was  it  a  debt,  for  which  I  demanded 
payment?  or  a  quarrel  about  some  boy  or  other?  Was  I  the 
worse  for  liquor,  and  behaving  like  a  drunkard?"  When  the 
man  met  each  of  these  questions  with  a  negative,  he  questioned 
him  further:  "  Are  you  a  heavy  infantry  soldier?  "  **  No,"  said 
he.  "A  peltast,  then?  "  "  No,  nor  yet  a  peltast; "  but  he  had 
been  ordered  by  his  messmates  to  drive  a  mule,  although  he 
was  a  free  man.  Then  at  last  he  recognized  him,  and  inquired: 
**  Are  you  the  fellow  who  carried  home  the  sick  man?  "  "  Yes, 
1  am,"  said  he,  "thanks  to  your  driving;  and  you  made  havoc 
of  my  messmates'  kit."  "Havoc!"  said  Xenophon.  "Nay," 
I  distributed  it:  some  to  one  man,  some  to  another  to  carry,  and 
bade  them  bring  the  things  safely  to  me;  and  when  I  got  them 
back  I  delivered  them  all  safely  to  you,  when  you,  on  your  side, 
had  rendered  an  account  to  me  of  the  man.  Let  me  tell  you," 
he  continued,  turning  to  the  court,  "what  the  circumstances 
were;  it  is  worth  hearing:  —  A  man  was  left  behind  from 
inability  to  proceed  farther;  I  recognized  the  poor  fellow 'suffi- 
ciently to  see  that  he  was  one  of  ours,  and  I  forced  you,  sir,  to 
carry  him  to  save  his  life.  For,  if  I  am  not  much  mistaken, 
the  enemy  were  close  at  our  heels?"  The  fellow  assented  to 
this.  "Well,  then,"  said  Xenophon,  "after  I  had  sent  you  for- 
ward, I  overtook  you  again,  as  I  came  up  with  the  rearguard; 
you  were  digging  a  trench  with  intent  to  bury  the  man;  I  pulled 
up  and  said  something  in  commendation;  as  we  stood  by  the 
poor  fellow  twitched  his  leg,  and  the  bystanders  all  cried  out: 
'Why,  the  man's  alive!'  Your  remark  was:  'Alive  or  not  as 
he  likes,  I  am  not  going  to  carry  him.'  Then  I  struck  you. 
Yes!  you  are  right,  for  it  looked  very  much  as  if  you  knew  him 
to  be  alive."  "  Well,"  said  he,  "was  he  any  the  less  dead  when 
I  reported  him  to  you?"  "  Nay,"  retorted  Xenophon,  "by  the 
same  token  we  shall  all  one  day  be  dead,  but  that  is  no  reason 
why  meantime  we  should  all  be  buried  alive!"  Then  there 
was  a  general  shout:  "  If  Xenophon  had  given  the  fellow  a  few 
more  blows,  it  might  have  been  better." 

Anabasis,  V,  8. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE    ORATORS.       DEMOSTHENES 

Eloquence  amoncf  the  Early  Greeks  —  The  Conditions  under 
w  >ich  Oratory  became  an  Art  —  The  Sophists  and  the 
Rhetoricians  —  The  Influence  of  Sicily  —  The  Professional 
Speech -writers  —  The  Ten  Attic  Orators:  Antiphon  — 
Andocides  —  Lysias  —  Isocrates  —  Isaeus  —  ytschines  — 
Hyperides — Lycurgus  —  Deinarchus —  Demosthenes — His 
early  Training  —  The  Prosecution  of  his  Guardians  —  The 
Private  Orations  —  The  Public  Prosecutions  —  The  First 
Orations  before  the  People  —  The  Orations  against  Philip 
—  After  the  Battle  of  Chaeronea  —  The  Oration  On  the 
Crown  —  The  Harpalus  Affair  —  His  Death  —  Demosthenes 
the  Consummation  of  Greek  Oratory  —  Selections  from  the 
Third  Olynthiac,  the  Third  Philippic,  the  Oration  On  the 
Crown,  and  from  vtschines'  Against  Ctesiphon. 

The  gift  of  persuasive  speech  was  always  highly 
prized  among  the  Greeks.  In  the  Homeric  poems  it 
was  a  rarer  possession  than  valor,  and  was  esteemed 
no  less  highly.  Peleus  sent  Phoenix  to  the  wars  with 
his  son  Achilles  to  teach  him  to  be  "both  a  speaker  of 
words  and  a  doer  of  deeds."  Odysseus  was  preemi- 
nent among  the  heroes  as  an  orator.  "When  he 
uttered  his  great  voice  from  his  chest,  and  words 
like  unto  the  snowflakes  of  winter,  then  no  mortal  man 
could  contend  with  Odysseus."  Into  the  mouth  of 
Odysseus  Homer  puts  this  estimate  of  the  value  of  elo- 
quence: "The  gods  do  not  give  every  gracious  gift  to 
all,  neither  shapeliness,  nor  wisdom,  nor  skilled  speech. 
For  one  man  is  feebler  than  another  in  presence,  yet 
the  gods  crown  his  words  with  beauty,  and  men  behold 

279 


28o  Homer  to  Theocritus 

him  and  rejoice,  and  his  speech  runs  surely  on  his  way 
with  sweet  modesty,  and  he  shines  forth  among  the 
gathering  of  the  people,  and  as  he  passes  through  the 
town  men  gaze  on  him  as  a  god."  In  later  times  it 
was  the  impassioned  appeal  of  Solon  that  stirred  the 
Athenians  to  renew  the  struggle  for  the  possession  of 
Salamis.  The  influence  of  Themistocles  is  expressly 
attributed  to  his  ready  oratory ;  and  without  his  remark- 
able gift  of  persuasion,  to  which  his  contemporaries 
bear  ample  witness,  Pericles  could  not  have  swayed  to 
his  will  for  over  thirty  years  the  fickle  Athenian 
democracy. 

But  during  all  this  time  eloquence  was  considered 
an  unusual  gift,  and  its  triumphs  were  due  to  the 
imposing  personality  of  the  speaker,  an  impressive 
manner  of  delivery,  and  tKe  force  of  the  facts  pre- 
sented, rather  than  to  the  arts  of  rhetoric.  Oratory 
had  not  yet  come  to  be  regarded  as  an  art,  nor  were 
the  effects  of  speech  upon  an  audience  studied  with 
the  conscious  purpose  of  enhancing  them  by  improving 
the  style  and  composition.  But  with  the  growth  of 
democratic  institutions  and  the  spread  of  education 
among  the  masses,  the  importance  of  a  skilful  arrange- 
ment of  the  thoughts  to  be  presented  before  the  popular 
assemblies  and  the  courts  of  law  and  of  a  perspicuous 
and  vigorous  style  was  more  clearly  recognized.  The 
cultivation  of  oratory  as  an  art  and  the  rise  of  rhet- 
oric was  the  result.  In  communities  where  absolute 
freedom  of  speech  was  allowed  and  where  the  populace 
had  been  accustomed  for  generations  to  hear  and 
criticise  the  works  of  the  greatest  poets,  as  at  Athens, 
the  demands  made  upon  the  public  speaker  grew 
apace.     The  quick-witted  audience  reacted  promptly 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  281 

and  powerfully  upon  the  speaker.  A  neatly-phrased 
maxim,  a  novel  turn  of  expression,  a  clever  parry  of  an 
objection,  striking  collocations  of  words,  figures  of 
thought  and  of  speech — -such  things  delighted  the  ear 
and  won  applause  and  success.  In  the  last  quarter  of 
the  fifth  century  the  tendency  toward  a  highly  devel- 
oped rhetoric  set  in  strongly.  It  exercised  a  marked 
influence  upon  tragedy,  as  is  seen  especially  in  the 
dialogue  portions  of  the  plays  of  Euripides,  and  is 
clearly  observed  in  the  speeches  in  Thucydides. 

Oratory  as  a  branch  of  literature  was  developed 
under  the  influence  of  two  classes  of  teachers,  the 
sophists  and  the  rhetoricians,  although  the  former  term 
was  often  applied  to  the  latter  class  also.  The  sophists 
("wise  men,"  "teachers  of  wisdom")  were  professional 
teachers  of  all  the  branches  which  tended  to  fit  the 
youth  for  a  successful  public  life.  Public  speaking 
was  naturally  included.  The  principal  sophists  who 
taught  in  Athens  were  all  aliens — i.  e.,  non-Attic 
Greeks:  Protagoras  of  Abdera,  Prodicus  of  Ceos, 
Thrasymachus  of  Calcedon,  and  Hippias  of  Elis.  They 
were  clever  rather  than  profound,  and  the  "art  of 
speech"  which  they  taught  rested  upon  a  superficial 
and  often  disingenuous  method  of  argumentation  by 
which  they  professed  to  be  able  "to  make  the  worse 
argument  appear  the  better."  By  their  ostentatious 
dress  and  manner,  the  high  fees  which  they  charged, 
their  subtlety  and  shallowness,  and  also  because  they 
were  innovators  from  abroad,  great  prejudice  was 
aroused  against  them  on  the  part  of  the  old-fashioned 
and  the  more  thoughtful  Athenians.  Men  like  Socrates, 
who  employed  similar  methods  to  some  extent,  but  who 
was  in  no  sense  a  professional  teacher,   shared  in  the 


282  Homer  to  Theocritus 

reproach  which  came  to  attach  to  the  name  of  "soph- 
ist," although  the  name  itself  was   honorable  enough. 

It  was  in  Sicily,  however,  and  not  in  Athens,  that  the 
theory  of  rhetoric  was  first  developed.  The  social  and 
political  conditions  there  were  in  many  points  similar 
to  those  in  Athens  in  the  latter  half  of  the  fifth  century. 
For  the  practical  purpose  of  meeting  the  needs  of 
people  who  had  to  plead  cases  before  the  law  courts, 
Corax  wrote  a  manual,  developed  later  by  a  pupil, 
Tisias,  through  whom  it  came  to  Athens.  Besides 
some  hints  on  arguments,  this  manual  gave  little  but 
elementary  instruction  as  to  the  parts  into  which 
a  speech  should  be  divided.  But  the  greatest  impulse 
which  Athenian  oratory  received  from  Sicily  came  from 
an  accomplished  speaker,  Gorgias  of  Leontini,  who 
came  on  a  mission  to  Athens  in  427  B.  C.  His  brilliant 
style  made  a  deep  impression  on  the  Athenians,  who, 
largely  through  his  persuasion,  ventured  upon  the  dis- 
astrous Sicilian  expedition. 

The  teachings  of  the  sophists  and  the  influence  of 
the  Sicilian  school  of  rhetoric  brought  oratory  to  the 
level  of  a  department  of  literature  through  the  profes- 
sional speech-writers  of  Athens.  The  Athenian  who 
was  obliged  to  prosecute  or  defend  a  case  before  the 
court  could  not  employ  a  lawyer  to  speak  for  him,  but 
had  to  speak  for  himself.  If  he  had  no  skill  in  oratory, 
he  employed  a  professional  speech-writer  to  prepare  * 
a  speech  for  him.  This  he  committed  to  memory  and 
delivered  as  his  own,  but  the  real  author,  to  further 
his  own  interests,  published  the  composition  under  his 
own  name.  A  large  proportion  of  the  extant  orations 
owe  their  origin  and  their  preservation  to  this  custom. 
The  skill  of  the  speech-writer  was  shown  not  only  in 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  283 

the  disposition  and  arrangement  of  the  subjects  which 
his  client  was  to  bring  before  the  court,  and  the  style 
and  diction  of  the  speech,  but  also  in  his  adaptation 
both  of  subject-matter  and  of  style  to  the  individuality 
of  the  client.  Most  of  the  speech-writers  were  accom- 
plished orators  themselves;  but  qualities  of  another 
kind  were  needed  to  make  the  orator  a  successful 
pleader  by  proxy. 

The  later  Greek  critics  drew  up  a  canon  of  ten 
Attic  orators,  the  greatest  of  whom  was  Demosthenes. 
Before  considering  him,  we  must  pass  briefly  in  review 
the  lesser  names,  some  of  which  are  of  great  signifi- 
cance in  the  development  of  Attic  oratory.  The  earli- 
est was  Antiphon,  whom  Thucydides  considered  the 
greatest  orator  of  the  day.  He  was  deeply  interested 
in  the  political  movements  of  Athens,  and  was  tried 
and  executed  in  411  B.  C.  for  his  participation  in  the 
revolution  of  the  Four  Hundred.  Of  the  fifteen  extant 
speeches  twelve  are  rhetorical  exercises,  sketches  of 
speeches  which  might  be  delivered  in  imaginary  cases 
of  homicide,  two  on  each  side.  The  other  three  were 
written  for  real  causes,  the  best  being  On  the  Murder 
of  Herodes^  a  defense  of  a  young  man  from  Mytilene 
charged  with  the  murder  of  Herodes,  an  Athenian. 
In  Antiphon  the  art  of  the  speech-writer  is  not  very 
highly  developed.  Little  is  said  about  the  evidence, 
but  a  great  deal  about  the  improbability  of  the 
charge.  His  style  was  vigorous  and  elaborate,  but  not 
easy  and  graceful.  No  attempt  was  made  to  adapt 
the  speeches  to  the  personality  of  the  client  who  deliv- 
ered  them. 

Unlike  Antiphon,  Andocides  was  not  a  professional 
writer     of    speeches    nor    especially    trained    in    the 


284  Homer  to  Theocritus  i 

schools  of  rhetoric.  Our  interest  in  him  is  largely  j 
personal,  for  he  was  involved  in  the  scandal  of  the  ■ 
mutilation  of  the  Hermae/  which  so  shocked  and  terri-  ; 
fied  Athens  in  415  B.  C.  He  went  into  exile,  and  was  \ 
restored  to  citizenship  only  by  the  general  amnesty  of  j 
402  B.  C.  In  411  he  unsuccessfully  applied  for  a  par-  j 
don,  delivering  a  speech,  On  the  Return,  which  is  still  j 
extant.  The  old  charges  were  revived  against  him  in  ^J 
399  B.  C,  but  he  defended  himself  successfully  in  the  \ 
speech  On  the  Mysteries,  in  which  his  best  qualities  as  ' 
an  orator  are  exhibited.  A  third  speech  is  preserved,  | 
On  the  Peace  with  Sparta,  being  a  report  of  the  results  \ 
of  an  embassy  on  which  he  was  sent  in  390  B.  C.  \ 

Lysias,  one  of  the  most  perfect  of  all  writers  of  < 
Attic  prose,  was  born  at  Athens  about  440  B.  C.  His  ' 
father  was  a  citizen  of  Syracuse,  so  that  the  son  could  ' 
not  become  an  Athenian  citizen  except  by  a  special  j 
enactment.  Political  reasons  prevented  such  action  j 
in  his  case.  After  spending  some  years  in  southern  j 
Italy,  he  removed  to  Athens  in  412  B.  C,  where  he  con-  \ 
tinned  to  live,  excepting  a  brief  period  of  exile  in  404  j 
B.  C,  until  his  death  at  the  age  of  eighty.  During  i 
the  reign  of  terror  under  the  Thirty  Tyrants  his  prop-  .1 
erty  and  that  of  his  brother  was  confiscated,  and  his  1 
brother  put  to  death,  Lysias  barely  escaping  with  his  | 
life.  On  his  return,  after  the  restoration  of  the  | 
democracy,  he  delivered  his  most  famous  speech,  | 
Against  Eratosthenes,  one  of  the  Thirty  who  was  directly  j 

'Statues  of  Hermes,  which  stood  before  the  private  houses  and  public  ^ 

buildings.    One  night,  just  before  the  fleet  was  to  sail  for  Sicily,  all  these  | 

statues  were  mutilated.    It  was  the  sacrilege  of  this  act,  and  the  suspicion  f 

that  it  was  the  work  of  conspirators,  which  caused  the  consternation  of  the  } 

populace.    Stories  were  then  circulated  that  some  of  the  young  men  had  | 

committed  another  act  of  sacrilege  — the  revealing  of  the  sacred  rites  con-  1 

nected  with  the  mysteries  of  Eleusis.    Alcibiades,  one  of  the  Athenian  gen-  f 

erals  in  charge  of  the  Sicilian  Expedition,  was  implicated  in  these  scandals  1 

and  obliged  to  go  into  exile.  3 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  285 

responsible  for  his  brother's  execution — the  only  ora- 
tion which  we  know  to  have  been  delivered  at  Athens 
by  Lysias  himself.  One  other  oration,  of  which  only 
a  fragment  is  preserved,  he  delivered  at  the  festival 
at  Olympia  in  388  B.  C,  urging  all  the  Greeks  to 
unite  against  their  common  enemies.  The  rest  of  the 
orations  still  preserved,  thirty-two  in  number,  were 
written  for  others  to  deliver.  As  a  speech-writer 
Lysias  won  unprecedented  success.  He  probably  took 
up  this  profession  on  account  of  the  loss  of  his  prop- 
erty, and  must  have  been  constantly  employed,  for 
over  two  hundred  speeches  by  him  were  known  in 
antiquity.  The  qualities  in  which  he  excelled  were 
his  simplicity  and  lucidity  of  style,  his  purity  of 
diction,  and  especially  his  skillful  adaptation  of  both 
style  and  matter  to  the  character  and  condition  of 
the  speaker.  He  was  a  good  student  of  huma^i  nature, 
knowing  how  to  put  his  client  into  sympathy  with  his 
hearers  at  the  outset,  employing  all  the  resources  of 
his  art  to  conciliate  and  to  persuade,  yet  at  the  same 
time  concealing  his  art  by  indulging  in  no  rhetoric 
which  would  betray  the  speech-writer  behind  the 
speaker. 

With  Isocrates  we  come  to  an  orator  of  an  alto- 
gether different  type.  While  Lysias  was  eminently 
practical,  Isocrates  aimed  not  at  practical  results  but 
at  a  literary  reputation.  He  was  also  a  fashionable 
teacher,  receiving  large  fees  for  his  services,  so  that 
the  term  "sophist"  was  correctly  applied  to  him, 
although  he  felt  that  he  was  far  above  the  common 
level  of  the  class,  for  he  was  a  creative  artist  as  well  as 
a  teacher.  Born  at  Athens  in  436  B.  C,  he  studied 
under  the  greatest  sophists  of  the  day,  and  had  some 


286  Homer  to  Theocritus 

connection  with  the  circle  of  Socrates.  He  lacked  the 
courage  and  physical  vigor  to  enter  upon  a  public 
career,  and  devoted  himself  at  first  to  writing  speeches 
for  others.  Six  orations  of  this  class  are  preserved. 
He  then  became  a  teacher  of  rhetoric,  numbering 
among  his  pupils  many  of  the  eminent  statesmen,  his- 
torians, orators,  and  tragic  poets  of  the  next  genera- 
tion. His  reputation  as  a  teacher,  however,  was  more 
than  equaled  by  his  fame  as  a  writer  of  artistic  prose. 
He  brought  the  florid,  periodic  style  to  perfection. 
He  was  not  content  with  purity  of  diction,  well- 
rounded,  sonorous  periods,  and  the  use  of  the  various 
figures  of  speech;  he  gave  to  his  prose  the  further 
advantage  of  rhythms,  especially  at  the  close  of  his 
periods,  and  carefully  avoided  the  concurrence  of 
vowels  between  words,  which  gave  an  effect  displeasing 
to  the  ear.  The  style  perfected  by  him  became  the 
model  for  later  Greek  prose,  formed  the  basis  of 
Cicero's  style,  and,  through  Cicero,  has  influenced 
modern  literary  prose.  But  the  orations  of  Isocrates 
are  monuments  of  style  rather  than  of  thought.  They 
were  written  for  display,  and  suffer  from  the  defects 
in  substance  incident  to  merely  epideictic  composition. 
We  feel  that  the  political  doctrines  on  which  he  expends 
so  much  skill  were  but  a  literary  pretense.  The  most 
brilliant  of  his  writings  is' the  Panegyricus,  intended 
for  delivery  at  the  gathering  {^panegyris)  of  the  Greeks 
at  Olympia,  on  the  elaboration  of  which  he  is  said  to 
have  spent  ten  years.  In  it  he  develops  the  idea 
which  he  cherished  through  life — the  necessity  of  the 
united  action  of  all  the  Greeks  against  the  Persian 
Empire.  Of  the  twenty-one  orations  extant  the 
majority  belong  to  the  same  class  as  the  Panegyricus^ 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  287 

of  which  the  Areopagiticus^  a  plea  for  the  restoration 
of  its  ancient  functions  to  the  Court  of  the  Areopagus, 
may  be  especially  mentioned.  Isocrates  died,  at  an 
advanced  age,  in  338  B.  C,  just  after  the  battle  of 
Chaeronea.^ 

Isaeus  was  a  contemporary  of  Isocrates,  but  his  ora- 
tions place  him  rather  in  the  same  class  with  Lysias. 
He  was  a  speech-writer  by  profession,  and  devoted 
himself  particularly  to  cases  involving  the  laws  of 
inheritance.  Eleven  of  his  orations  are  preserved. 
They  all  deal  with  abstruse  and  complex  legal  ques- 
tions, and  are  of  the  highest  importance  for  our  knowl- 
edge both  of  Athenian  family  life  and  of  the  laws  of 
intestate  succession.  Isaeus  combined  a  clear  and 
forceful  style  with  complete  technical  mastery  of  his 
subject,  and,  as  the  first  great  artist  of  forensic  con- 
troversy, may  be  regarded  as  a  forerunner  of  Demos- 
thenes. 

^schines  was  born  of  respectable  Attic  parents  in 
389  B.  C,  being  a  few  years  older  than  his  great  rival, 
Demosthenes.  His  father  was  obliged  by  poverty  to 
fit  his  son  for  a  useful  rather  than  a  public  career. 
After  the  usual  military  service,  in  which  he  acquitted 
himself  honorably,  ^schines  became  a  clerk  in  some 
government  office.  The  possession  of  an  excellent 
voice  and  a  good  presence,  however,  directed  him  to 
the  stage,  where  he  spent  a  number  of  years  as  a  tragic 
actor,  taking  roles  of  minor  importance.  Returning 
again  to  his  clerical  office,  he  gradually  made  his  way, 
by   means   of  influence  and  of   his   native   ability,   to 

•The  story  that  he  committed  suicide  is  probably  a  fable.  Milton  refers 
to  it  in  the  lines: 

"That  dishonest  victory 
At  Chaeronea,  fatal  to  liberty. 
Killed  with  report  that  old  man  eloquent." 


288  Homer  to  Theocritus  I 

a  position  of  some  importance  in  political  life.  He  j 
was  sent  on  several  embassies,  twice  as  a  colleague  j 
of  Demosthenes.  He  was  bitterly  attacked  for  his  i 
part  in  the  mission  to  Philip  of  Macedon,  which  | 
resulted  in  the  peace  of  Philocrates  (346),  and  defended  i 
himself  first  in  the  oration  Against  Tiinarchus  (345),  i 
and  again  against  Demosthenes  in  the  speech  On  the  \ 
Embassy  (343),  both  of  which  are  still  extant.  On  the  \ 
latter  occasion  he  narrowly  escaped  conviction.  ! 
A  bitter  feud  with  Demosthenes  was  the  result.  When,  I 
in  lid  B.  C,  Ctesiphon  proposed  that  Demosthenes  j 
should  receive  a  golden  crown  from  the  state  in  recog-  1 
nition  of  his  public  services,  ^schines  opposed  the  i 
motion  in  the  oration  Against  Ctesiphon^  an  elaborate  ; 
and  eloquent  attack  upon  the  whole  life  and  public  \ 
conduct  of  his  rival.  The  attack  failed,  and  ^schines,  I 
who  received  less  than  one-fifth  of  the  votes  cast,  \ 
chose  to  leave  Athens  rather  than  submit  to  the  heavy  j 
fine  which  was  imposed  in  such  cases.  As  a  represen-  j 
tative  of  the  Macedonian  party  in  Athens  and  an  I 
opponent  of  the  patriotic  policy  of  Demosthenes,  i 
^schines  fails  to  win  our  sympathy  and  respect;  but  ; 
it  cannot  be  denied  that  he  was  an  orator  of  first-rate  ■ 
ability  and  of  brilliant  natural  gifts,  probably  the  I 
greatest  orator  of  his  time  after  DemostheneSo  The  I 
three  extant  orations  were  published  as  a  vindication  ■ 
of  his  conduct.  He  had  not  received  the  elaborate  ! 
training  of  Demosthenes,  nor  did  he  look  upon  oratory  ! 
as  a  profession.  He  seems  generally  to  have  spoken  j 
extempore.  He  excels  in  brilliant  narrative  rather  i 
than  in  close  argumentation;  but  there  is  a  lack  of  the  \ 
conviction,  moral  earnestness,  and  high  patriotic  ; 
motives  that  distinguish  Demosthenes.  : 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  289 

The  patriotic  party  at  Athens  received  the  sup- 
port of  two  other  of  the  ten  great  orators  of  the  canon, 
Hypereides  and  Lycurgus.  The  former  was  a  man  of 
wealth  and  influence  and  an  orator  of  the  highest 
order.  His  speeches  reveal  the  simplicity  and  grace 
of  Lysias,  but  lack  the  passion  and  fire  of  Demosthenes. 
He  cultivated  the  easy,  conversational  style  in  address- 
ing the  jury  (for  the  custom  had  arisen  of  allowing 
friends  of  the  parties  directly  interested  in  a  case  to 
make  supplementary  speeches),  thus  adopting  the 
tactics  of  the  modern  lawyer.  There  is  a  refinement 
in  the  tone  of  his  speeches  which  is  often  wanting  in 
Demosthenes,  especially  in  referring  to  his  opponents. 
He  became  an  opponent  of  Demosthenes  after  the 
latter  had  adopted  a  conciliatory  policy  toward  Alex- 
ander. A  considerable  portion  of  the  speech  Against 
Demosthenes  is  preserved,  in  which  a  serious  charge  of 
bribing  is  brought  against  the  latter.  This  and  five 
other  orations  have  been  discovered  on  papyrus  frag- 
ments found  in  Egypt  at  various  times  since  1847,  the 
latest  in  1892.  Among  these  is  a  large  portion  of  the 
Funeral  Oration  on  the  soldiers  who  fell  in  the  Lamian 
war  (322  B.  C),  regarded  in  antiquity  as  the  most 
perfect  oration  of  its  kind.  Only  one  oration  of 
Lycurgus,  the  remarkable  statesman  who  had  charge 
of  the  Athenian  finances  from  338  to  326,  is  extant. 
By  the  force  of  his  character  and  intellectual  attain- 
ments he  gained  a  place  among  the  Ten  Orators, 
although  he  did  not  cultivate  oratory  for  its  own  sake. 
The  last  of  the  Ten  Orators  in  the  canon  was 
Deinarchus,  a  Corinthian  by  birth,  a  supporter  of  the 
party  which  opposed  Demosthenes  and  favored  Philip 
of  Macedon.     Three  of  his  speeches  are  preserved. 


290  Homer  to  Theocritus 

We  come  now  to  the  greatest  orator  of  antiquity. 
Demosthenes  was  born  in  384  B,  C.  His  father, 
a  wealthy  manufacturer  of  weapons,  died  when  he  was 
seven  years  old.  Discovering  at  an  early  age  that  his 
inheritance  had  greatly  diminished  through  either 
the  dishonesty  or  the  mismanagement  of  his  guardians, 
he  determined  to  become  an  orator,  that  he  might 
himself  gain  redress  through  the  courts  of  law.  He 
seemed  little  fitted  either  by  nature  or  by  his  education 
to  become  a  public  speaker.  His  voice  was  weak  and 
he  lisped,  and  his  manner  was  awkward.  He  had  been 
allowed  to  neglect  outdoor  sports  and  the  training  of 
the  gymnasium,  which  constituted  an  important  part 
of  the  education  of  the  Athenian  youth.  With  indom- 
itable determination  he  applied  himself  to  overcome 
these  defects.  We  are  told  that  he  declaimed  with 
pebbles  in  his  mouth  to  correct  the  lisping,  spoke 
against  the  roar  of  the  breakers  to  gain  voice  and  pres- 
ence of  mind  in  the  face  of  a  tumult,  confined  himself 
for  long  periods  to  an  underground  chamber  in  study, 
took  lessons  in  delivery  from  a  famous  actor  and  in 
legal  argumentation  from  Isseus.  At  the  age  of 
twenty  he  prosecuted  his  guardians  and  obtained  a 
verdict.  The  four  speeches  which  grew  out  of  these 
cases.  Against  Aphobus  and  Onetor,  are  still  preserved. 

But  his  patrimony  was  so  impaired  that  he  became 
a  professional  speech-writer.  His  activity  in  this 
direction  was  confined  to  the  next  fifteen  years. 
Thirty-two  private  orations  are  preserved,  of  which 
only  about  one-third,  including  the  four  above  men- 
tioned, are  considered  genuine.  The  speech  For 
Pharmio  is  considered  the  best  of  this  class.  Mean- 
while he  began  to  take  part  in  public  affairs.     Before 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  291 

appearing  before  the  public  assembly,  however,  he 
came  before  the  courts  and  the  Senate  in  cases  involv- 
ing public  interests.  The  speeches  On  the  Naval  Crown 
(359),  Against  Androtion  (355),  and  Timocrates  were 
written  for  others  to  deliver.  His  first  appearance  in 
person  in  a  public  prosecution  was  in  354,  with  the 
speech  Against  Leptines^  a  brilliant  effort,  in  which  he 
defends  the  policy  of  rewarding  by  exempting  from 
special  taxation  citizens  who  have  deserved  well  of 
their  country.  The  speech  Agaifist  Aristocrates  (352) 
introduces  him  to  matters  of  foreign  policy.  The 
speech  Against  Meidias  (349),  who  had  assaulted 
Demosthenes  in  the  theatre  while  the  latter  was  dis- 
charging his  duties  as  choregus,  was  never  delivered, 
but  shows  at  least  how  the  young  reformer  had  already 
got  himself  hated. 

Meanwhile  Demosthenes  had  steadily  pushed  for- 
ward into  active  participation  in  the  affairs  of  the 
state.  In  the  speeches  before  the  Assembly  On  the 
Navy  Boards  (354),  For  Megalopolis  (352),  and  For  the 
Rhodians  (351)  he  advocated  administrative  reforms 
and  a  more  vigorous  foreign  policy.  But  his  real 
strength  was  not  shown  until,  in  a  succession  of  nine 
speeches,  he  warned  Athens  of  the  great  danger  that 
threatened  her  and  all  Hellas  from  the  north  in  the 
person  of  Philip,  king  of  Macedon,  who  had  gradually 
been  enlarging  his  dominions  and  was  now  threatening 
some  of  the  Athenian  possessions.  The  First  Philippic 
(351)  was  followed  by  the  three  Olynthiac  orations 
(349-8).  Olynthus,  the  most  powerful  Greek  city  in 
the  north,  the  head  of  a  strong  confederacy  of  cities, 
was  threatened  by  Philip.  Demosthenes,  realizing 
that  the  interests  of  free  Greece  were  vitally  concerned 


292  Homer  to  Theocritus 

in  its  safety,  urged  the  Athenians  to  send  a  strong 
force  of  troops  to  its  assistance.  He  failed,  however, 
to  convince  Athens  of  the  gravity  of  the  situation  and 
to  arouse  her  to  put  forth  all  her  strength  at  the  critical 
moment. 

Olynthus  fell  in  the  year  348.  Philip  now  directed 
his  attention  southward.  By  his  admission  to  the 
Amphictyonic  Council  in  346  he  became  a  Greek 
power,  and  by  his  diplomacy  and  intrigue  won  a  strong 
party  of  supporters  in  Athens  itself.  Demosthenes  at 
first,  in  the  oration  On  the  Peace  (346),  supported  the 
treaty  of  peace  that  was  concluded  with  Philip,  he 
himself,  with  ^Eschines,  having  taken  part  in  the 
embassy  which  had  arranged  the  terms.  But  he  soon 
saw  through  the  designs  of  Philip,  and  renewed  his 
attacks  upon  him  in  the  Second  Philippic  (344),  On  the 
Chersonese,  and  the  Third  Philippic  (341).  The  oration 
On  the  Embassy  (343)  was  directed  against  ^schines, 
who  was  charged  with  having  betrayed  the  interests  of 
Athens  in  the  mission  which  resulted  in  the  peace  of 
346.  So  step  by  step  Demosthenes,  who  was  now  the 
acknowledged  leader  of  the  anti-Macedonian  party, 
opposed  the  designs  of  Philip  with  all  the  fervor  of  his 
oratory.  The  conflict  broke  out  into  open  warfare  in 
340.  Demosthenes  succeeded  in  prevailing  upon 
Thebes  to  join  Athens  in  the  field  against  Philip.  The 
decisive  battle  was  fought  at  Chaeronea  in  338.  Philip 
inflicted  a  crushing  defeat  upon  the  allies.  Demos- 
thenes took  part  in  the  battle  and  fled  with  the  rest. 

After  the  defeat  at  Chaeronea  Demosthenes  was 
chosen  to  deliver  the  funeral  oration  over  the  fallen. 
The  blow  which  overthrew  the  liberties  of  Athens  did 
not  break  his  spirit.     He  courageously  faced  the  situ- 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  293 

* 
ation,  and  contributed  both  time  and  money  to  improv- 
ing tlie  affairs  of  the  state.  For  his  services  Ctesi- 
phon  proposed  that  the  city  should  crown  him  with  a 
golden  crown  at  the  City  Dionysia.  ^schines  opposed 
the  motion  by  bringing  action  against  Ctesiphon  for 
making  an  illegal  proposal.  For  some  reason  the  case 
was  not  tried  before  the  people  until  the  year  330. 
Demosthenes  defended  Ctesiphon  in  his  masterpiece, 
the  oration  On  the  Crown,  in  which  he  reviewed  his 
own  line  of  conduct.  ^schines  was  defeated  and 
obliged  to  leave  Athens.  In  the  last  period  of  his  life 
the  leadership  gradually  passed  out  of  the  hands  of 
Demosthenes.  He  was  charged  with  having  received 
money  from  Harpalus,  the  treasurer  of  Alexander,  who 
had  absconded  to  Athens.  He  claimed  that  he  had 
used  the  money  for  the  city,  but  the  Areopagus  inflicted 
a  heavy  fine  upon  him,  which  he  could  not  pay.  He 
accordingly  went  into  exile.  In  322  he  took  poison  to 
escape  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  Macedonians,  and 
died  on  the  island  of  Calauria,  off  the  coast  of  Argolis. 
To  one  who  studies  the  growth  of  Athenian  elo- 
quence in  the  century  that  preceded  the  maturity  of 
Demosthenes,  it  seems  that  Greece  had  been  preparing 
the  way  all  this  time  for  her  greatest  and  most  perfect 
orator,  the  champion  of  her  liberty.  The  natural  and 
unimpeded  growth  which  we  have  marked  in  other 
branches  of  Greek  literature  is  illustrated  perhaps 
nowhere  so  clearly  as  in  oratory.  The  ancients  found 
in  Antiphon  the  best  representative  of  the  grand  style, 
in  Lysias  of  the  simple  style,  and  in  Isocrates  of  the 
middle  style,  best  suited  to  rhetorical  display.  Each 
had  achieved  success  according  to  his  ideals  of  art. 
Furthermore,  Isaeus  had  attained  the  mastery  of  the 


294  Homer  to  Theocritus 

art  of  legal  argumentation.  These  stages  in  the 
growth  of  oratory  were  each  built  upon  the  founda- 
tions laid  by  the  earlier  theoretical  and  practical 
exponents  of  forensic  rhetoric,  and  corresponded  to 
the  external  conditions  of  legal  and  public  speaking 
in  each  period.  And  finally  Demosthenes,  having  at 
his  command  all  of  the  resources  which  his  predeces- 
sors had  severally  learned  to  employ,  united  in  himself 
all  of  the  excellences  of  them  all.  But  there  was  some- 
thing more  in  his  oratory  than  rhetorical  excellence, 
though  he  surpassed  in  wealth  of  vocabulary,  variety 
of  expression,  and  melody  of  rhythm.  He  was  intel- 
lectually and  morally  the  superior  of  any  of  his 
contemporaries.  These  are  the  qualities  which  made 
Demosthenes  the  far-sighted  and  loyal  statesman. 
His  public  speeches  are  penetrated  with  a  lofty  moral- 
ity and  a  fervent  patriotism,  which,  in  spite  of  the 
bitter  and  sometimes  coarse  invective  which  he  too 
often  discharges  against  his  adversaries,  lift  them  to 
a  higher  plane  than  that  reached  by  any  other  orator  in 
antiquity.  In  tardy  recognition  of  his  self-sacrificing 
patriotism,  his  fellow-citizens  a  generation  after  his 
death  set  up  a  statue  of  him,  bearing  this  inscription: 
"If  thou  hadst  had  strength  equal  to  thy  wisdom, 
Demosthenes,  never  would  the  Ares  of  Macedon  have 
ruled  over  Hellenes." 

It  is  impossible  to  gain  an  adequate  idea  of  Demos- 
thenes' style  through  the  medium  of  any  existing 
English  translation.  A  few  selections  will  serve  at 
least  to  show  his  earnestness  and  some  of  the  broader 
features  of  his  manner  in  the  public  orations.  For 
the  other  orations  Kennedy's  translation  is  used;  for 
the  oration  On  the  Crown  that  of  Sir  Robert  Collier. 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  295 


THE   DANGER    OF    TRUSTING    PHILIP 

They  who  advise  for  the  best  cannot  always  gratify  their 
audience,  though  they  would;  for  the  safety  of  the  state  must 
be  attended  to;  their  opponents,  by  the  very  counsel  which  is 
agreeable,  advance  Philip's  interest.  One  party  required  con- 
tribution; the  other  said  there  was  no  necessity;  one  was  for 
war  and  mistrust;  the  other  for  peace,  until  they  were  ensnared. 
And  so  on  for  everything  else;  not  to  dwell  on  particulars,  the 
one  made  speeches  to  please  for  the  moment,  and  gave  no 
annoyance;  the  other  offered  salutary  counsel  that  was  offensive. 
Many  rights  did  the  people  surrender  at  last,  not  from  any 
such  motive  of  indulgence  or  ignorance,  but  submitting  in  the 
belief  that  all  was  lost.  Which,  by  Zeus  and  Apollo,  I  fear 
will  be  your  case,  when  on  calculation  you  see  that  nothing  can 
be  done.  I  pray,  men  of  Athens,  it  may  never  come  to  this! 
Better  die  a  thousand  deaths  than  render  homage  to  Philip,  or 
sacrifice  any  of  your  faithful  counsellors.  A  fine  recompense 
have  the  people  of  Oreus  got  for  trusting  themselves  to  Philip's 
friends  and  spurning  huphraeus!  Finely  are  the  Eretrian  com- 
mons rewarded  for  having  driven  away  your  ambassadors  and 
yielded  to  Clitarchus!  Yes;  they  are  slaves,  exposed  to  the 
lash  and  the  torture.  Finely  he  spared  the  Olynthians,  who 
appointed  Lasthenes  to  command  their  horse  and  expelled 
Apollonides!  It  is  folly  and  cowardice  to  cherish  such  hopes, 
and,  while  you  take  evil  counsel  and  shirk  every  duty,  and 
even  listen  to  those  who  plead  tor  your  enemies,  to  think 
you  inhabit  a  city  of  such  magnitude  that  you  cannot  suffer 
any  serious  misfortune.  Yea,  and  it  is  digraceful  to  exclaim 
on  any  occurrence,  when  it  is  too  late:  "  Who  would  have 
expected  it?  However,  this  or  that  should  have  been  done, 
the  other  left  undone."  Many  things  could  the  Olynthians 
mention  now,  which,  if  foreseen  at  the  time,  would  have  pre- 
vented their  destruction.  Many  could  the  Orites  mention, 
many  the  Phocians,  and  each  of  the  ruined  states.  But  what 
would  it  avail  them?  As  long  as  the  vessel  is  safe,  whether  it 
be  great  or  small,  the  mariner,  the  pilot,  every  man  in  turn 
should  exert  himself,  and  prevent  its  being  overturned  either 
by  accident  or  design;  but  when  the  sea  hath   rolled  over  it. 


296  Homer  to  Theocritus 

their  efforts  are  vain.  And  we  likewise,  O  Athenians,  whilst  we 
are  safe,  with  a  magnificent  city,  plentiful  resources,  lofty 
reputation  —  what  must  we  do?  many  of  you,  I  dare  say,  have 
been  longing  to  ask.  Well,  then,  I  will  tell  you:  I  will  move 
a  resolution;  pass  it  if  you  please. 

Third  Philippic,  63-71. 

THE  ORATIONS  ON  THE  CROWN 
Demosthenes  begins  the  oration  On  the  Crown  by 
an  appeal  to  the  gods  for  a  fair  and  impartial  hearing. 
Then,  after  briefly  indicating  the  issues  of  the  trial,  of 
vast  importance  to  himself  but  involving  no  serious 
consequences  for  ^Eschines,  he  introduces  his  answer 
to  the  charges  brought  against  his  conduct  by  the 
following  impressive  adjuration: 

As  I  am,  it  appears,  to  render  an  account  to-day  both  of 
the  whole  of  my  private  life  and  of  my  public  conduct,  I  desire 
once  more  to  invoke  the  gods;  and  in  your  presence  I  here 
implore  them,  in  the  first  place,  that  whatever  measure  of  good 
will  I  have  entertained  to  the  staic  and  to  you  all,  the  same 
may  be  meted  to  me  upon  this  trial;  and  next,  that  you  may  be 
guided  to  such  a  determination  of  this  cause  as  may  consist  with 
our  country's  honour  and  with  the  sacred  duty  of  every  juror. 

The  concluding  words  of  the  oration  are  no  less 
impressive.      I  use  Lord  Brougham's  rendering: 

Let  not,  O  gracious  God,  let  not  such  conduct  receive  any 
measure  of  sanction  from  thee!  Rather  plant  even  in  these 
men  a  better  spirit  and  better  feelings!  But  if  they  are  wholly 
incurable,  then  pursue  them,  yea,  themselves  by  themselves,  to 
utter  and  untimely  perdition,  by  land  and  by  sea;  and  to  us 
who  are  spared  vouchsafe  to  grant  the  speediest  rescue  from 
our  impending  alarms,  and  an  unshaken  security. 

For  the  sake  of  comparison,  one  of  the  most  effect- 
ive passages  in  the  oration  of  ^schines,  in  which  he 
holds   Demosthenes   up   to  scorn,    is  introduced   here 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  297 

side  by  side  with  a  passage  from  the  speech  of 
Demosthenes,  in  which  the  latter  pays  his  respects  to 
^schines: 

O  thou,  who  on  every  occasion  of  great  and  important 
action  hast  proved  of  all  mankind  the  most  worthless,  in  the 
insolence  of  language  the  most  astonishing,  canst  thou  attempt, 
in  the  face  of  these  thy  fellow-citizens,  to  claim  the  honor  of  a 
crown  for  the  misfortunes  into  which  thou  hast  plunged  thy 
city?  Or,  should  he  claim  it,  can  you  restrain  your  indignation, 
and  has  the  memory  of  your  slaughtered  countrymen  perished 
with  them?  Indulge  me  for  a  moment,  and  imagine  that  you 
are  now  not  in  this  tribunal,  but  in  the  theatre,  imagine  that  you 
see  the  herald  approaching  and  the  proclamation  prescribed 
in  this  decree  on  the  point  of  being  delivered,  and  then  con- 
sider whether  the  friends  of  the  deceased  will  shed  more  tears 
at  the  tragedies,  at  the  pathetic  stories  of  the  great  characters 
to  be  presented  on  the  stage,  or  at  the  insensibility  of  their 
country?  What  inhabitant  of  Greece,  what  human  creature, 
who  has  imbibed  the  least  share  of  liberal  sentiments,  must 
not  feel  the  deepest  sorrow  when  he  reflects  on  one  transaction 
which  he  must  have  seen  in  the  theatre,  when  he  remembers, 
if  he  remembers  nothing  else,  that  on  festivals  like  these,  when 
the  tragedies  were  to  be  presented  (in  those  times  when  the 
state  was  well  governed  and  directed  by  faithful  ministers),  a 
herald  appeared,  and  introducing  those  orphans  whose  fathers 
had  died  in  battle,  now  arrived  at  maturity,  and  dressed  in  com- 
plete armor,  made  a  proclamation  the  most  noble  and  the  most 
effectual  to  excite  the  mind  to  glorious  actions;  that  these 
youths,  whose  fathers  lost  their  lives  in  fighting  bravely  for  their 
country,  the  people  had  maintained  to  this  their  age  of  maturity; 
that  now,  having  furnished  them  with  complete  suits  of  armor, 
they  dismiss  them,  with  prayers  for  their  prosperity,  to  attend 
to  their  respective  affairs,  and  invite  them  to  aspire  to  the 
highest  ofifices  of  the  state.  Such  were  the  proclamations  in  old 
times, but  such  are  not  now  heard.  And  were  the  herald  to  intro- 
duce the  person  who  had  made  these  children  orphans,  what 
could  he  say  or  what  could  he  proclaim?  Should  he  speak  in 
the  form  prescribed  in  this  decree,  yet  the  odious  truth  would 
still  force  itself  upon  you;  it  would  seem  to  strike  your  ears 


298                   Homer  to  Theocritus  - 

I 

with  a  language  different  from  that  of  the  herald.     It  would  j 

tell  you   that   the  Athenian   people  crowned   this  man,  who  1 

scarcely  deserves  the  name  of  a  man,  on  account  of  his  virtue,  \ 

though  a  wretch  the  most  abandoned,  and  on  account  of  his  ' 

magnanimity,  though  a  coward  and  a  deserter  of  his  post.     Do  j 

not,  Athenians,  I  conjure   you   by  all  the  powers  of  heaven,  \ 

do  not  erect  a  trophy  in  your  theatre  to  perpetuate  your  own  ] 

disgrace.     Do  not  expose  the  weak  conduct  of  your  country  in  1 

the  presence  of  the  Greeks,  do  not  recall  all  their  grievous  and  i 

desperate  misfortunes  to  the  minds  of  the  wretched  Thebans,  | 

who,  when  driven  from  their  habitations  by  this  man,  were  1 

received  within  these  walls,  whose  temples,  whose  children,  \ 

whose  sepulchral  monuments  were  destroyed  by  the  corrup-  ; 

tion  of  Demosthenes  and  the  Macedonian  gold.  \ 

iEschines,  Against  Ctesiphon,  152-157.  \ 

\ 

Compare  this  passage  from  Demosthenes:  \ 

Contrast  then,  ^schines,  calmly  and  dispassionately,  the  ; 

principal  incidents  of  our  respective  lives,  and  put  it  to  the  1 

audience,  whose  fortune  would  each  of  them  take  for  a  choice,  j 

You  were  a  schoolmaster,  I  a  scholar;  you  performed  initia-  ; 

tions,   I  was  initiated;   you  danced  in  the  chorus,  I  paid  the  '\ 

dancers;  you  sat  as  clerk,  I  spoke  in  the  assemblies;  you  acted  i 

third  parts,  I  was  a  spectator;  you  broke  down,  I  hissed.    All  ; 

your  public  conduct  has  been  in  the  interest  of  our  enemies;  \ 

mine  of  my  country.     Omitting  other  subjects  of   comparison,  ; 
let  us  come  to  this  very  day:  my  merits  are  being  considered, 

and  it  is  admitted  by  general  consent  that  I  have  done  no  \ 

wrong.    You  have  come  to  be  regarded  as  a  calumniator;  nay,  j 
more,  you  run  a  serious  risk  of  failing  to  obtain  one-fifth  of 

the  votes,  and  being  incapacitated  from  calumniating  again.  ' 

Such  is  the  brilliant  fortune,  observe  you,  which  has  attended  ! 

your  life,  and  which  inspires  you  with  such  contempt  of  mine!  | 
Come,  now,  let   me   read   to   you   all   the   public  testimonials 

relating  to  the  office  which  I  have  filled;  and  by  way  of  coun-  ; 

terblast  do  you  recite  to  us  the  quotations  which  you  murdered:  | 

"  I  come  from  darkness  and  the  gates  of  Hell." 

And— 

"  Unwillingly  I  bring  the  news  of  ill."  l 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  299 

111  betide  you,  say  I  —  may  you  be  confounded  for  a  vile 
citizen  and  bad  actor  by  gods  above  and  men  below!    [To  the 

clerk.]     Read  the  testimonies. 

On  the  Crown,  265-268. 

In  the  following  noble  appeal  Demosthenes  main- 
tains that  the  course  of  wisdom  is  always  the  course 
of  honor,  whatever  the  outcome  may  be: 

What  is  past  and  gone  is,  by  general  consent,  thrown  aside; 
there  is  little  use  in  even  discussing  it;  the  future  it  is  or  the 
present  which  calls  for  the  action  of  the  statesman.  At  that  time 
some  calamity  seemed  impending;  others  had  already  befallen 
us.  By  the  existing  circumstances  judge  my  policy,  instead 
of  reproaching  me  with  the  event.  The  issue  of  all  things  is 
in  the  hands  of  Providence;  the  choice  of  measures  it  is  which 
indicates  the  sagacity  of  the  statesman.  Impute  it  not  as  a 
crime  to  me  if  it  was  Philip's  fortune  to  conquer  in  battle;  the 
event  of  the  battle  was  not  in  my  hands,  but  in  the  hands  of 
God.  That  I  did  not  conceive  all  the  expedients  which  human 
foresight  could  suggest,  that  I  did  not  put  them  into  practice 
honestly,  diligently,  and  with  exertions  beyond  my  strength,  or 
that  I  did  not  adopt  an  honorable  policy,  worthy  of  the  State 
and  necessary  to  its  preservation — show  me  this,  and  accuse 
me  if  you  will.  But  if  the  tempest  that  has  swept  over  us  has 
been  too  strong,  not  only  for  ourselves  but  for  all  the  other 
states  of  Greece — what  then?  You  might  as  well  hold  the  ship- 
owner, who  has  taken  all  precautions  and  furnished  every 
necessary  equipment,  answerable  for  the  wreck  of  his  vessel 
if  her  tackle  were  broken  or  torn  in  pieces  by  a  storm!  "But 
I  did  not  pilot  the  vessel,"  he  might  say;  no  more  did  I  lead 
your  troops  to  battle.  I  was  not  the  disposer  of  Fortune.  For- 
tune is  the  disposer  of  all  things 

Why,  if  right  were  done,  the  man  who  has  made  the 
calamities  of  Greece  the  capital  on  which  to  found  his  reputa- 
tion ought  to  perish,  instead  of  being  an  accuser;  that  man  can 
be  no  friend  to  his  country  who  has  profited  by  the  same  con- 
junctures as  his  enemies.  That  this  is  so  you  make  manifest 
by  your  life,  by  your  actions,  by  the  part  which  you  take  in 
public  affairs,  and,  what  is  more,  by  the  part  which  you  do  not 


joo  Homer  to  Theocritus 

take.  Is  anything  on  foot  which  promises  public  advantage?  ■ 
y^schines  is  mute.  Has  anything  gone  wrong  and  taken  a  turn  j 
adverse  to  your  interests?  ^schines  is  ready  for  action;  as  \ 
old  fractures  and  sprains  become  painful  afresh  when  the  body  ' 
is  attacked  by  disease.  i 

But  as  he  bases  his  invective  so  much  on  the  event,  I  will  ; 
venture  on  an  assertion  which  may  appear  somewhat  para-  \ 
doxical.  By  all  the  Heavenly  Powers  be  not  amazed  at  my  i 
audacity,  but  give  me  your  favorable  attention.  I  affirm,  then,  j 
that  if  the  future  had  been  apparent  to  us  all;  if  all  men  had  i 
foreseen  it;  if  you,  ^Eschines,  had  foretold  it  and  proclaimed  : 
it  at  the  top  of  your  voice  instead  of  preserving  total  silence,  ; 
nevertheless  the  State  ought  not  to  have  deviated  from  her  i 
course,  if  she  had  regard  to  her  own  honor,  the  traditions  of  j 
the  past,  or  the  judgment  of  posterity.  As  it  is,  she  is  looked  ; 
upon  as  having  been  unsuccessful  in  her  policy — the  lot  of  all  i 
mankind  when  such  is  the  will  of  Heaven;  but  if,  claiming  to  i 
be  the  foremost  state  in  Greece,  she  had  deserted  her  post,  she  i 
would  have  incurred  the  reproach  of  betraying  all  Greece  to  ; 

Philip But  counsels  such  as  these  were  intolerable  i 

to  the  Athenians  of  those  former  days — opposed  to  their  tradi-  ; 
tions,  alien  to  their  nature  —  nor  in  all  time  has  any  man  ever  ' 
succeeded  in  persuading  this  country  to  side  with  powerful  | 
wrong-doers  and  to  embrace  secure  slavery;  but  our  whole  i 
national  existence  has  been  one  continual  struggle  for  the  ; 
foremost  place  in  the  career  of  glory  and  renown.  How  sacred  '< 
you  deem  these  sentiments,  how  consonant  with  the  genius  \ 
of  your  country,  you  yourselves  testify  by  the  veneration  in  ; 
which  you  hold  the  memories  of  your  ancestors  who  have  , 
acted  upon  them.  And  you  are  in  the  right;  for  who  can  i 
withhold  admiration  from  the  heroism  of  those  men  who  had  i 
the  resolution  to  leave  this  city  and  their  fatherland,  and  to  i 
embark  on  shipboard,  rather  than  submit  to  the  dictation  of  ■ 
a  foreign  power,  choosing  Themistocles,  the  adviser  of  the  i 
measure,  for  their  commander,  and  stoning  to  death  Cyrsilus,  < 
who  counselled  submission  to  the  imperial  mandates?  Stoning  \ 
him,  do  I  say?  why,  your  very  wives  stoned  his  wife!  The  | 
Athenians  of  those  days  went  not  in  quest  of  an  orator  or  ' 
general  who  could  help  them  to  prosperous  slavery;  but  they  I 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  301 

scorned  life  itself,  if  it  were  not  the  life  of  freedom.  Each  of 
them  regarded  himself  as  the  child,  not  only  of  his  father  and 
of  his  mother,  but  of  his  country.  And  what  is  the  difference? 
He  who  regards  himself  as  the  child  of  his  parents  only  awaits 
the  approach  of  death  m  the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  but  he 
who  regards  himself  as  the  child  also  of  his  country  will  be 
ready  to  lay  down  his  life  rather  than  see  her  enslaved,  and 
will  deem  the  insults  and  indignities  to  which  the  citizens  of  a 
subjected  state  must  needs  submit  more  terrible  than  death. 

On  the  Crown t  192-206. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

:l 

PHILOSOPHICAL    PROSE.       PLATO  ! 

t 
The  Separation  of  Natural  Philosophy  from  Mythology —  The  | 
Protest  of  Xenophanes  — The  Pre-Socratic  Speculations  ; 
and  the  Sophists  —  Socrates,  his  Life  and  Teachings — 1 
Plato  —  The  Foundation  of  the  Academy  —  The  Dialogue  ] 
as  a  branch  of  Prose  Literature  —  The  Personality  of  Soc-  | 
rates  in  the  Platonic  Writings  —  Sketch  of  the  Principal  i 
Dialogues  —  Plato's  Style  —  Selections:  Socrates'  Views  I 
about  Death  —  The  Death  of  Socrates.  ' 

The  mythological  system  of  the  early  Greeks,  first  i 
worked  out  and  reduced  to  a  system  by  the  poets,  i 
especially  by  Hesiod,  included  not  only  a  theology  but  \ 
also  a  cosmogony.  The  origin  of  the  universe  was  I 
explained  in  accordance  with  the  prevalent  conception  ' 
of  the  nature  and  attributes  of  the  gods.  In  other  j 
words,  the  agencies  of  natiire  were  personified  and  the  ; 
phenomena  of  the  physical  world  were  but  the  outward  j 
manifestations  of  the  activities  of  the  gods,  each  work-  \ 
ing  in  his  appropriate  sphere.  But  this  system  did  not  i 
long  satisfy  the  more  thoughtful  minds  of  Greece.  In  | 
the  sixth  century  men  began  to  look  for  a  more  rational  \ 
explanation  of  nature,  for  some  fundamental  principles  \ 
which  would  account  for  the  origin  of  the  visible  world  j 
without  recourse  to  the  gods.  Thfts  natural  philosophy,  \ 
out  of  which  grew  the  natural  sciences  on  the  one  hand  j 
and  philosophy  and  ethics  on  the  other,  became  sepa-  j 
rated  from  theology.  The  first  clear  protest  against  \ 
the  traditional  and  current  anthropomorphic  religion,  j 

302  I 


Philosophical  Prose.      Plato             303  ■ 

with    its    low    standards   of   conduct,    is  found  in  the  ] 

verses  of  the  poet  Xenophanes,  who  flourished  toward  l 

the   middle   of   the   sixth   century.      Lawton   has  thus  ] 

translated  his  memorable  hexameters:  ] 

Everything  is  ascribed  to  the  gods  by  Hesiod  and  Homer,  i 

Whatsoever  among  mankind  is  shameful  and  wicked.  1 

Numberless  lawless  deeds  of  the  gods  by  them  are  recorded,  | 

Thievishness,  unchastity,  ay,  and  deceit  of  each  other!  ; 

Still  men  hold  the  belief  that  the  gods  were  born  and  1 

begotten,  « 

Wear  such  garb  as  themselves,  and  have  like  bodies  and  ' 

vices I 

Yet  it  is  certain,  if  hands  were  bestowed  upon  oxen  or  lions,  \ 

If  with  their  hands  they  could  draw,  and  the  works  of  men  ^  i 

should  accomplish, —  ^ 

Horses  like  unto  horses,  and  oxen  in  likeness  of  oxen,  ! 

So  would  they  draw  their  figures  of  gods,  and  fashion  the  ^ 

bodies,  j 

Like  in  every  way  to  their  own!  ) 

Greek    philosophy    had    its   origin    not   in    Greece 
proper,    but    in    the   colonies   of   Ionia  and    southern 

Italy.     We  cannot  attempt  here  to  mention  the  found-  i 

ers  of  the  various  schools,  or  to  outline  their  theories  j 

as  to  the  origin  of  the  universe — matters  which  belong  j 

properly  to  the  history  of  Greek  philosophy  rather  than  }^ 

to  the  history  of  literature.     They  wrote  some  in  verse  | 

and    others   in   prose,   but   only   scanty   fragments   of  ] 

their  writings  have  come  down  to  us.      The  first  of  the  I 

pre-Socratic  philosophers  who  exercised  an  important  : 

influence    upon    Attic    literature    was    Anaxagoras    of  \ 

Clazomenae,  in  Asia  Minor,  who  resided  in  Athens  for  I 
many  years  during  the  age  of  Pericles  and  contributed 

largely  to  the  intellectual  awakening  which  character-  i 
ized  the  end  of  the  fifth  century.      He  was  banished..^.^ 


304  Homer  to  Theocritus 

from  Athens  in  431  for  impiety,  one  of  the  charges 
against  him  being  that  he  declared  the  sun  to  be  a  clod 
and  not  a  god.  Then  followed  the  sophists,  of  whose 
influence  on  the  development  of  artistic  prose  dis- 
course we  have  already  spoken.  They  were  not  inter- 
ested in  the  speculations  about  the  origin  of  things  so 
much  as  in  the  practical  questions  of  ethics,  politics, 
and  knowledge  in  general.  Their  influence  on  the 
spirit  of  the  time  in  breaking  up  the  old  faith  and  in 
transforming  education  was  enormous. 

So .  the  way  was  paved  for  Socrates,  the  greatest 
figure  in  the  history  of  Greek  thought.  Though  he 
contributed  nothing  to  Greek  literature  directly,  yet 
his  influence  as  a  teacher  upon  the  philosophical  liter- 
ature of  the  ancient  world  was  so  profound  that  we 
may  well  pause  a  moment  to  review  his  life  and  teach- 
ings. Born  in  469  B.  C,  he  followed  at  first  his  father's 
trade  as  a  sculptor.  Soon,  however,  he  devoted  him- 
self to  ethical  speculation.  He  did  not,  like  the  soph- 
ists, teach  for  pay,  but  mingled  freely  with  all  men  in 
the  streets,  in  the  market-place,  or  in  the  gymnasia — 
in  short,  wherever  he  could  find  an  audience.  He 
conceived  that  he  had  a  divine  call  to  question  men 
as  to  their  beliefs,  and  thus  to  awaken  in  them  first 
a  consciousness  of  their  own  ignorance  and  then 
a  desire  for  real  knowledge.  His  method  was  that  of 
question  and  answer,  or  dialectic.  By  this  process  he 
sought  to  obtain  clearer  notions  of  virtue  and  knowl- 
edge, framing  tentative  definitions  by  comparing 
a  number  of  specific  cases  involving  the  same  general 
term — that  is,  by  the  method  of  inductive  reasoning. 
In  this  way  he  proved  that  no  one  wittingly  does 
wrong,  for  right-doing  is  the  only  way  to  happiness, 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  305 

and  every  man  desires  happiness.  Therefore  virtue 
is  the  knowledge  of  what  really  conduces  to  happi- 
ness— that  is,  wisdoni.  And  the  various  qualities 
which  constitute  virtue — for  example,  courage,  piety, 
and  temperance — are  determined  by  reference  to  what 
is  wise  in  the  particular  class  of  circumstances  involved. 
Thus,  bravery  depends  upon  the  knowledge  of  what  is 
really  dangerous  and  what  is  not,  and  so  on. 

Socrates'  teachings  covered  the  whole  range  of 
practical  ethics.  He  believed  that  every  man  should 
contribute  to  the  welfare  of  the  state,  and  himself  set 
an  example  by  taking  part  in  several  campaigns.  His 
course  of  life  kept  him  in  great  poverty,  but  he  had 
trained  himself  to  want  so  little  that  he  was  never  in 
want.  As  to  matters  of  religion  he  did  not  expressly 
discard  the  old  polytheism,  but  he  held  that  there  was 
one  supreme  God,  who  ordered  all  things  for  good 
and  to  whom  men  should  look  for  guidance  in  matters 
beyond  their  own  range  of  knowledge.  He  believed 
in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  though  he  could  not 
prove  the  doctrine  by  reasoning.  Socrates  further 
thought  that  he  possessed  a  sort  of  inward  monitor, 
which  he  termed  a  deity,  which  never,  indeed,  told  him 
what  course  of  action  to  follow,  but  checked  him  when 
about  to  take  a  wrong  step.  The  views  which  he 
held  were  so  original,  his  method  of  propagating  them 
so  calculated  to  provoke  the  personal  hostility  of  the 
men  whom  he  questioned  and  refuted,  and  his  own 
indifference  both  to  the  conventionalities  of  society 
and  to  the  accepted  beliefs  so  frankly  avowed,  that  he 
early  became  an  object  of  dislike  to  many.  As  early 
as  423  he  was  the  object  of  attack  of  the  Clouds  of 
Aristophanes.     The  fact  that  some  of  his  followers,  as 


3o6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Alcibiades  and  Critias,  became  prominent  as  disturb- 
ing factors  in  Athenian  politics,  increased  the  prejudice 
against  him.  After  the  democratic  reaction  that  fol- 
lowed the  revolution  of  404,  charges  were  brought 
against  him  to  the  effect  that  he  undermined  religion 
and  corrupted  the  youth.  He  was  tried,  condemned, 
and  put  to  death  in  399  B.  C. 

Our  knowledge  of  Socrates  is  derived  mainly  from 
the  writings  of  his  pupils,  especially  Xenophon  and 
Plato,  through  whom  he  comes  to  have  a  place  in  the 
history  of  Greek  literature.  Plato,  whose  real  name 
was  Aristocles,  but  who  was  called  Plato  from  the 
breadth  of  his  shoulders,  was  probably  born  in  429, 
the  year  of  the  death  of  Pericles.  He  received  a  lib- 
eral education  in  the  three  branches,  letters,  music, 
and  athletics.  He  made  the  acquaintance  of  Socrates 
and  joined  his  followers  when  about  twenty  years  of 
age.  After  the  death  of  his  master  he  left  Athens  for 
a  time,  spending  several  years  in  extensive  travel  and 
in  study.  He  visited  the  court  of  Dionysius  I,  tyrant 
of  Syracuse,  but  offended  the  monarch,  and  was  sold 
into  slavery  by  a  Spartan  to  whom  Dionysius  delivered 
him.  Ransomed  by  a  friend,  he  returned,  about  387 
B.  C,  to  Athens,  where  he  purchased  an  estate  north- 
west of  the  city,  near  the  precinct  of  the  hero  Acade- 
mus,  called  the  Academeia,  or  Academy — a  grove 
which  contained  promenades  and  a  gymnasium.  Here 
he  set  up  his  school  of  philosophy.  Men  came  from 
all  quarters  of  Greece  to  hear  him.  He  limited  his 
hearers  to  a  small  number,  and  though  he  charged  no 
fee,  he  accepted  presents.  After  ten  years  he 
revisited  Syracuse,  hoping  to  make  a  model  king  out 
of  Dionysius  H,  who  had  succeeded  to  the  tyranny. 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  307 

In  this  hope  he  was  grievously  disappointed  and  was 
glad  to  escape  to  Athens  again.  Again  he  visited 
Syracuse  in  order  to  reconcile  the  king  with  his  friend 
Dion,  at  whose  invitation  he  had  previously  gone  to 
Syracuse  but  whom  the  tyrant  had  exiled.  In  this 
plan,  too,  he  failed.  He  died  at  Athens  about  347  B.  C. 
Plato  is  almost  the  only  writer  of  antiquity  whose 
writings  have  come  down  to  us  complete.  We  have 
forty-two  dialogues  under  his  name,  of  which  some 
twenty-five  are  probably  genuine.  This  is  not  the 
place  to  consider  Plato's  philosophical  system;  we  can 
at  most  give  some  idea  of  the  subject-matter  of  his 
principal  works  and  define  his  place  in  the  history  of 
literature.  In  the  first  place  he  adopted  the  dialogue 
form  of  composition,  and  was  the  first  to  bring  it  to 
perfection.  He  chose  the  dialogue,  doubtless,  in  the 
first  instance,  because  it  truthfully  reproduced  the 
manner  of  Socrates'  intercourse  with  his  followers, 
and  retained  it  because  the  dialectic  method  suited 
best  his  plan  of  philosophical  inquiry  and  exposition. 
We  are  told  that  in  his  youth  he  essayed  not  only  other 
branches  of  poetry  but  also  tragedy.  The  dramatic 
form  of  the  dialogue  undoubtedly  appealed  to  his 
artistic  literary  instincts.  He  graphically  indicates 
the  scenery,  draws  his  characters  with  realism  and 
fidelity,  and  develops  the  plot  with  all  of  the  skill  of 
a  dramatic  artist.  In  fact  the  dialogue,  in  his,hands, 
takes  a  place  in  prose  literature  beside  history  and 
oratory  that  corresponds  closely  to  the  position  of 
tragedy  in  poetry  after  the  epic  and  lyric  forms.  But 
some  exceptions  mufet  be  made  as  regards  the  dra- 
matic form  of  the  Platonic  dialogues.  Plato  pays  little 
attention  to  chronological  consistency  in  choosing  his 


3o8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

characters  and  fixing  the  time  of  action.  In  one 
instance  he  makes  Socrates,  who  died  in  399,  refer  to 
an  event  of  the  year  387.  Again,  in  the  later  dia- 
logues the  dramatic  elements  are  neglected  and 
become  a  mere  frame  for  the  discussion,  which  tends 
to  become  a  monologue.  Two  of  Plato's  works,  the 
Apology  and  the  Menexenus^  are  not  dialogues,  but 
speeches. 

It  is  to  be  observed,  in  the  second  place,  that  the 
personality  and  the  teachings  of  Socrates  pervade  all 
of  Plato's  writings.  Socrates  is  always  one  of  the 
characters  in  the  dialogues,  and  it  is  he  who  is  repre- 
sented as  delivering  the  two  speeches.  The  doctrines 
that  are  developed  are  always  put  in  the  mouth  of 
Socrates,  and  Plato  never  claims  them  as  his  own. 
He  mentions  himself  but  twice.  It  is  therefore 
a  question  how  far  we  are  to  suppose  that  the  Socra- 
tes of  Plato  is  the  real  Socrates.  We  may  believe  that 
he  depicts  the  character  and  personality  of  his  master 
with  essential  fidelity,  and  truthfully  exhibits  his 
methods  of  inquiry  after  truth.  But  the  great  philo- 
sophical ideas^  which  are  developed  are  those  of  Plato; 
no.;  can  we  determine  how  largely  he  was  indebted  to 
Socrates  for  the  suggestions  which  led  up  to  them. 
Naturally  the  earlier  dialogues  contain  more  of  Socra- 
tes and  less  of  Plato. 

No  chronological  arrangement  of  Plato's  dialogues 
that  has  yet  been  proposed  is  entirely  satisfactory. 
Several  attempts  at  a  logical  classification  were  made 
in   antiquity,    the   most   valuable  of  which  recognizes 

*We  may  mention  especially  the  Theory  of  Ideas,  the  Doctrine  of  Recol- 
lection, and  the  Theory  of  Love,  for  the  explanation  ot  which  we  must  refer 
to  the  manuals  ot  Greek  philosophy,  or  to  Professor  Shorey's  article  on  Plato 
in  Warner's  Library  of  the  World's  Best  Literature. 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  309 

two  classes — the  Dialogues  of  Search,  in  which  Plato 
attacks  a  problem  from  all  sides,  with  only  tentative, 
or  even  negative,  results;  and  the  Dialogues  of 
Exposition,  in  which  positive  results  are  reached. 
For  literary  study,  however,  a  simpler  grouping  will  be 
convenient.  Let  us  consider  first  the  four  pieces 
which  relate  to  the  trial  and  death  of  Socrates,  the 
Euihyphro^  Apology^  Crito^  and  Fhcedo.  In  the  first- 
named  Socrates,  on  his  way  to  the  trial,  is  represented 
as  meeting  Euthyphro  and  engaging  him  in  a  discus- 
sion on  piety.  The  Apology  is  Plato's  version  of 
Socrates'  noble  speech  before  the  jurors.  The  first 
part  is  the  defense  proper^  followed  by  the  proposal  by 
Socrates  of  the  counter-penaltv.  and  ending  with  an 
address  to  the  jurors  after  th^  rpndfring  ^<^  thp  ver^^i^t 
In  the  Crito  we  find  Socrates  in  prison.  Crito,  one  of 
his  followers,  visits  him  and  tries  to  win  his  consent  to 
a  plan  of  escape,  but  Socrates  proves  that  he  cannot, 
as  a  good  citizen,  violate  the  laws  of  his  country. 
The  Fhcedo  contains  an  account  of  the  last  conversa- 
tion and  of  the  death  of  Socrates.  The  theme  of  the 
conversation  is  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  This 
dialogue  is  the  most  famous  of  Plato's  writings,  not 
only  on  account  of  the  sublime  picture  of  Socrates' 
death,  of  a  pathos  unapproached  in  literature,  but  also 
on  account  of  the  infinite  importance  for  mankind  of 
the  main  subject.  Five  of  the  shorter  dialogues  in 
the  more  intimate  Socratic  spirit  may  be  grouped 
together:  the  Lysis^  on  friendship;  the  Charmides^  on 
chastity;  the  Laches^  on  courage;  the  Hippias  minor ^ 
a  comparison  of  Achilles  and  Odysseus;  and  the  lon^ 
an  interesting  discussion  with  a  Homeric  rhapsodist. 
In  four  dialogues  the  attitude  of  Socrates  toward 


Jio  Homer  to  Theocritus  i 

the  sophists  is  illustrated.  These  are  the  Protagoras,  '\ 
Gorgias,  Euthydemus,  and  Cratylus,  each  named  after  \ 
the  sophist  with  whom  Socrates  holds  a  discussion.  \ 
The  Protagoras  is  one  of  Plato's  masterpieces  as  a  \ 
dramatic  dialogue.  With  fine  irony  the  arrogance  and  \ 
empty  pretensions  of  the  sophists  as  a  class,  illustrated  \ 
by  their  principal  representative,  are  exposed.  The  ] 
subject  of  the  debate  is  the  possibility  of  teaching  \ 
virtue.  No  decision  is  reached,  but  the  subject  is  ' 
taken  up  again  in  the  Meno,  in  which  the  proposition  \ 
is  defended  that  virtue  is  knowledge,  and  that  knowl-  | 
edge  is  but  a  recollection  of  what  the  soul  knew  in  1 
a  previous  existence — a  doctrine  familiar  to  us  from  i 
Wordsworth's  Ode  on  Intimations  of  Immortality  from  \ 
Recollections  of  Early  Childhood,  and  used  again  by  \ 
Plato  in  the  Phcedo.  The  Gorgias  is  directed  against  ■ 
the  pretensions  of  the  rhetoricians,  represented  by  the  \ 
great  Sicilian,  but  discusses  some  of  the  higher  ques-  \ 
tions  of  ethics.  For  example,  the  Christian  doctrine  i 
is  maintained  that  it  is  a  greater  evil  to  do  than  to  \ 
suffer  injustice.  Socrates  also  protests  against  the  j 
theory  that  good  is  pleasure  and  evil  is  pain,  and  \ 
insists  on  an  absolute  standard  of  morality  without  ; 
regard  to  consequences.  In  a  similar  manner,  in  the  ; 
Phcedrus,  Socrates,  beginning  and  ending  with  a  criti-  j 
cism  of  rhetoric,  devotes  his  attention  mainly  to  \ 
another  theme.  Here  the  subject  is  love — philosophic  { 
love,  "the  divine  impulse  which  leads  us  to  long  for  ■ 
immortality  and  to  seek  after  perfection.  "  The  open-  ) 
ing  scene  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  Greek  litera-  \ 
ture — the  meeting  of  Socrates  and  his  young  friend  j 
Phaedrus  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus.  The  Symposium  \ 
is  closely  connected  with   the  Phaedrus  in  subject,  for*; 

\ 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  311 

a  large  part  of  it  is  devoted  to  a  consideration  of  love. 
It  is  perhaps  the  most  perfect  as  a  work  of  literature, 
as  it  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  charming  of  the  dia- 
logues of  Plato.  It  is  an  account  of  a  banquet  given 
at  the  house  of  Agathon,  the  tragic  poet.  Among 
the  guests  were  Alcibiades,  the  poet  Aristophanes,  and 
Socrates.  Toward  the  close  Alcibiades  gives  a  won- 
derful description  of  Socrates,  extolling  his  virtues, 
but  not  sparing  his  ugliness. 

Passing  over  the  dialogues  of  more  strictly  philo- 
sophical interest,  as  the  Thecetetus,  Sophistes,  Foliticus, 
TtmcBus,  Critias^  Parmenides^  and  Philebus^  and  the 
spurious  or  suspected  writings,  of  which  but  one  is  of 
literary  interest — the  Menexenus^  a  funeral  oration 
which  Socrates  pretends  to  have  learned  from  Aspasia 
— we  come  to  the  greatest  constructive  work  of  Plato, 
the  Republic.  It  has  come  down  to  us  in  ten  books, 
but  was  originally  conceived  as  a  smaller  work,  grad- 
ually growing  in  the  author's  hands  to  its  present  com- 
pass. It  is  thrown  into  the  form  of  a  dialogue  held 
in  Peirseus  at  the  house  of  Cephalus,  the  father  of 
the  orator  Lysias.  Socrates,  Cephalus,  and  his  son 
Polemarchus,  Glaucus  and  Adeimantus,  brothers  of 
Plato,  and  several  others  were  present.  The  thread 
of  the  dialogue  is,  however,  very  slender,  since  Soc- 
rates talks  most  of  the  time,  with  few  interruptions. 
The  conversation  turns  first  upon  the  question  as  to 
what  justice  is,  then  upon  the  founding  and  organiza- 
tion of  an  ideal  city  or  state  based  upon  justice.  This 
leads  to  the  consideration  of  the  education  both  of 
mind  and  of  body  which  the  citizens  of  such  a  state 
should  receive,  and  the  virtues — viz.,  wisdom,  courage, 
self-control,  and  righteousness — which  in  such  a  well- 


312  Homer  to  Theocritus 

ordered  state  must  result  from  such  an  education. 
Socrates  then  develops  his  theory  of  the  community  of 
wives  and  children,  and  of  the  training  of  those  who 
are  to  be  the  "guardians,"  or  quahfied  rulers  of  the 
state.  Returning  in  the  last  book  to  the  subject  of 
poetry  as  a  part  of  education,  he  lays  down  the  rule 
that  the  only  poetry  allowed  in  the  ideal  state  will  be 
hymns  in  honor  of  the  gods  and  of  righteous  men. 
He  had  already  decided  against  Homer  and  Hesiod 
because  they  attribute  wicked  actions  to  the  gods  and 
dwell  upon  the  unworthy  passions  of  men.  After 
a  few  words  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  the  hope 
of  which  is  to  inspire  the  righteous  citizen,  he  closes 
with  the  famous  myth  of  Er  the  son  of  Armenius. 

We  cannot  dwell  longer  upon  this  book,  which  has 
charmed  and  stimulated  the  world  of  letters  and  philos- 
ophy, and  has  inspired  such  works  as  St.  Augustine's 
City  of  God  and  More's  Utopia^  nor  upon  Plato's  last 
work,  the  Laws^  in  which  he  modifies  some  of  his  views 
about  the  ideal  state,  and  works  out  some  of  the  details 
of  its  government.  After  a  word  about  Plato's  style 
we  may  pass  to  the  selections  from  his  writings.  Plato 
was  essentially  a  poet,  though  he  chose  to  work  in 
prose.  His  style  "is  on  the  borderland  between 
poetry  and  prose;  it  has  exquisite  conversational  ease 
and  grace;  it  has  also  bursts  of  soaring  eloquence, 
when  we  seem  to  be  listening  to  the  words  of  one  who 
is  actually  looking  on  some  glorious  vision"  (Jebb). 
A  characteristic  of  his  dialogues  is  his  occasional 
employment  of  "myths,"  or  parables  drawn  from  the 
realm  of  fancy,  by  which  he  enlivens  the  dialogue  and 
illustrates  his  doctrines.  Plato  occupies  a  place  in 
English  literature  as  well  as  in  Greek,  thanks  to  Jow- 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  313 

ett's  incomparable  translation,  from  which  the  follow- 
ing selections  are  taken: 

SOCRATES'    VIEWS   ABOUT   DEATH 

Let  us  reflect  in  another  way,  and  we  shall  see  that  there 
is  great  reason  to  hope  that  death  is  a  good;  for  one  of  two 
things  —  either  death  is  a  state  of  nothingness  and  utter  uncon- 
sciousness, or,  as  men  say,  there  is  a  change  and  migration 
of  the  soul  from  this  world  to  another.  Now  if  you  suppose 
that  there  is  no  consciousness,  but  a  sleep  like  the  sleep 
of  him  who  is  undisturbed  even  by  dreams,  death  will  be 
an  unspeakable  gain.  For  if  a  person  were  to  select  the 
night  in  which  his  sleep  was  undisturbed  even  by  dreams, 
and  were  to  compare  with  this  the  other  days  and  nights 
of  his  life,  and  then  were  to  tell  us  how  many  days  and 
nights  he  had  passed  in  the  course  of  his  life  better  and 
more  pleasantly  than  this  one,  I  think  that  any  man,  I  will 
not  say  a  private  man,  but  even  the  great  king,  will  not  find 
many  such  days  or  nights,  when  compared  with  the  others. 
Now  if  death  be  of  such  a  nature,  I  say  that  to  die  is  gain; 
for  eternity  is  then  only  a  single  night.  But  if  death  is  the 
journey  to  another  place,  and  there,  as  men  say,  all  the 
dead  abide,  what  good,  O  my  friends  and  judges,  can  be 
greater  than  this?  If  indeed  when  the  pilgrim  arrives  in 
the  world  below,  he  is  delivered  from  the  professors  of  justice 
in  this  world,  and  finds  the  true  judges,  who  are  said  to  give 
judgment  there,  Minos  and  Rhadamanthus  and  ^Eacus  and 
Triptolemus,  and  other  sons  of  God  who  were  righteous  in 
their  own  life,  that  pilgrimage  will  be  worth  making.  What 
would  not  a  man  give  if  he  might  converse  with  Orpheus 
and  Musaeus  and  Hesiod  and  Homer?  Nay,  if  this  be  true, 
let  me  die  again  and  again.     .    .     . 

Wherefore,  O  judges,  be  of  good  cheer  about  death,  and 
know  of  a  certainty,  that  no  evil  can  happen  to  a  good  man, 
either  in  life  or  after  death.  He  and  his  are  not  neglected  by 
the  gods;  nor  has  my  own  approaching  end  happened  by 
mere  chance.  But  I  see  clearly  that  the  time  had  arrived 
when  it  was  better  for  me  to  die  and  be  released  from  trouble; 


314                  Homer  to  Theocritus  \ 

\ 

wherefore  the  oracle  gave  no  sign.    For  which  reason,  also,  I  | 

am    not    angry  with   my    condemners,   or  with  my  accusers;  ^ 

they  have  done  me  no  harm,  although  they  did  not  mean  to  i 

do  me  any  good;  and  for  this  I  may  gently  blame  them.  \ 

Still  I  have  a  favour  to  ask  of  them.     When  my  sons  are  1 

grown  up,  I  would  ask  you,  O  my  friends,  to  punish  them;  and  *■■ 
I  would  have  you  trouble  them,  as  I  have  troubled  you,  if  they 

seem  to  care  about  riches,  or  anything,  more  than  about  virtue;  . 

or  if  they  pretend  to  be  something  when  they  are  really  noth-  \ 

ing, — then  reprove  them,  as  I  have  reproved  you,  for  not  caring  ; 

about  that  for  which  they  ought  to  care,  and  thinking  that  they  j 

are  something  when  they  are  really  nothing.     And  if  you  do  i 

this,  both  I  and  my  sons  will  have  received  justice  at  your  \ 

hands.  ■ 

The  hour  of  departure  has  arrived,  and  we  go  our  ways — I  ] 

to  die,  and  you  to  live.    Which  is  better  God  only  knows.  \ 

Apology,  32-33.  I 
i 

THE   DEATH    OF    SOCRATES  J 

"  Wherefore,  Simmias,  seeing  all  these  things,  what  ought  ■ 

not  we  to  do  that  we  may  obtain  virtue  and  wisdom  in  this  ; 

life?    Fair  is  the  prize,  and  the  hope  great!    A  man  of  sense  ] 

ought  not  to  say,  nor  will  1  be  very  confident,  that  the  descrip-  j 

tion  which  I  have  given  of  the  soul  and  her  mansions  is  exactly  j 

true.     But  I  do  say  that,  inasmuch  as  the  soul  is  shown  to  1 

be   immortal,  he  may  venture  to   think,  not   improperly    or  \ 

unworthily,  that  something  of  the  kind  is  true.    The  venture  i 

is  a  glorious  one,  and  he  ought  to  comfort  himself  with  words  I 

like  these,  which  is  the  reason  why  I  lengthen  out  the  tale,  j 

Wherefore,  I  say,  let  a  man  be  of  good  cheer  about  his  soul,  | 

who  having  cast  away  the  pleasures  and  ornaments  of  the  ' 

body  as  alien  to  him   and  working  harm   rather  than  good,  . 

has  sought  after  the  pleasures  of  knowledge;  and  has  arrayed  ] 

the  soul,  not  in  some  foreign  attire,  but  in  her  own  proper  i 

jewels,  temperance,    and  justice,  and    courage,  and  nobility,  j 

and  truth  —  in  these  adorned  she  is  ready  to  go  on  her  journey  : 

to  the  world  below,  when  her  hour  comes."     ....  i 

Now  the  hour  of  sunset  was  near,  for  a  good  deal  of  time  ; 

had  passed  while  he  was  within.    When  he  came  out,  he  sat  ; 


Philosophical  Prose.      Plato  315 

down  with  us  again  after  his  bath,  but  not  much  was  said. 
Soon  the  jailer,  who  was  the  servant  of  the  Eleven,  entered 
and  stood  by  him,  saying:  —  "To  you,  Socrates,  whom  I  know 
to  be  the  noblest  and  gentlest  and  best  of  all  who  ever  came 
to  this  place,  I  will  not  impute  the  angry  feelings  of  other 
men,  who  rage  and  swear  at  me,  when,  in  obedience  to  the 
authorities,  I  bid  them  drink  the  poison  —  indeed,  I  am  sure 
that  you  will  not  be  angry  with  me;  for  others,  as  you  are 
aware,  and  not  I,  are  to  blame.  And  so  fare  you  well,  and 
try  to  bear  lightly  what  must  needs  be — you  know  my  errand." 

Then  bursting  into  tears  he  turned  away  and  went  out. 
Socrates  looked  at  him  and  said:  "I  return  your  good  wishes, 
and  will  do  as  you  bid."  Then  turnmg  to  us,  he  said:  "  How 
charming  the  man  is:  since  I  have  been  in  prison  he  has 
always  been  coming  to  see  me,  and  at  times  he  would  talk 
to  me,  and  was  as  good  to  me  as  could  be,  and  now  see 
how  generously  he  sorrows  on  my  account.  We  must  do  as 
he  says,  Crito;  and  therefore  let  the  cup  be  brought,  if  the 
poison  is  prepared:  if  not,  let  the  attendant  prepare  some." 

"Yet,"  said  Crito,  "the  sun  is  still  upon  the  hill-tops,  and 
I  know  that  many  a  one  has  taken  the  draught  late,  and 
after  the  announcement  has  been  made  to  him,  he  has  eaten 
and  drunk,  and  enjoyed  the  society  of  his  beloved;  do  not 
hurry  —  there  is  time  enough.  Socrates  said:  "Yes,  Crito, 
and  they  of  whom  you  speak  are  right  in  so  acting,  for  they 
think  that  they  will  be  gainers  by  the  delay;  but  I  am  right 
in  not  following  their  example,  for  I  do  not  think  that  I 
should  gain  anything  by  drinking  the  poison  a  little  later; 
I  should  only  be  ridiculous  in  my  own  eyes  for  sparing  and 
saving  a  life  which  is  already  forfeit.  Please  then  to  do  as 
I  say,  and  not  to  refuse  me." 

Crito  made  a  sign  to  the  servant,  who  was  standing  by; 
and  he  went  out,  and  having  been  absent  for  some  time, 
returned  with  the  jailer  carrying  the  cup  of  poison.  Socrates 
said:  "You,  my  good  friend,  who  are  experienced  in  these 
matters,  shall  give  me  directions  how  I  am  to  proceed." 
The  man  answered:  "You  have  only  to  walk  about  until 
your  legs  are  heavy,  and  then  to  lie  down,  and  the  poison 
will  act."    At  the  same  time  he  handed  the  cup  to  Socrates, 


3i6 


Homer  to  Theocritus 


who  in  the  easiest  and  gentlest  manner,  without  the  least 
fear  or  change  of  colour  or  feature,  looking  at  the  man  with 
all  his  eyes,  Echecrates,  as  his  manner  was,  took  the  cup 
and  said:  "What  do  you  say  about  making  a  libation  out 
of  this  cup  to  any  god?  May  I,  or  not?  "  The  man  answered: 
"  We  only  prepare,  Socrates,  just  so  much  as  we  deem  enough  " 
"I  understand,"  he  said:  "but  I  may  and  must  ask  the  gods 
to  prosper  my  journey  from  this  to  the  other  world  —  even 
so  —  and  so  be  it  according  to  my  prayer."  Then  raising 
the  cup  to  his  lips,  quite  readily  and  cheerfully  he  drank 
off  the  poison.  And  hitherto  most  of  us  had  been  able  to 
control  our  sorrow;  but  now  when  we  saw  him  drinking,  and 
saw  ioo  that  he  had  finished  the  draught,  we  could  no  longer 
forbear,  and  in  spite  of  myself  my  own  tears  were  flowing 
fast;  so  that  I  covered  my  face  and  wept,  not  for  him,  but 
at  the  thought  of  my  own  calamity  in  having  to  part  from 
such  a  friend.  Nor  was  I  the  first;  for  Crito,  when  he  found 
himself  unable  to  restrain  his  tears,  had  got  up,  and  I  followed; 
and  at  that  moment,  Apollodorus,  who  had  been  weeping  all 
the  time,  broke  out  in  a  loud  and  passionate  cry  which  made 
cowards  of  us  all.  Socrates  alone  retained  his  calmness: 
"What  is  this  strange  outcry?"  he  said.  "I  sent  away  the 
women  mainly  in  order  that  they  might  not  misbehave  in 
this  way,  for  I  have  been  told  that  a  man  should  die  in 
peace.  Be  quiet  then,  and  have  patience."  When  we  heard 
his  words  we  were  ashamed,  and  refrained  our  tears;  and 
he  walked  about  until,  as  he  said,  his  legs  began  to  fail, 
and  then  he  lay  on  his  back,  according  to  the  directions, 
and  the  man  who  gave  him  the  poison  now  and  then  looked 
at  his  feet  and  legs;  and  after  a  while  he  pressed  his  foot 
hard,  and  asked  him  if  he  could  feel;  and  he  said,  "No"; 
and  then  his  leg,  and  so"  upwards  and  upwards,  and  showed 
us  that  he  was  cold  and  stiff.  And  he  felt  them  himself, 
and  said,  "When  the  poison  reaches  the  heart,  that  will  be 
the  end."  He  was  beginning  to  grow  cold  about  the  groin, 
when  he  uncovered  his  face,  for  he  had  covered  himself  up, 
and  said  —  they  were  his  last  words  —  he  said:  "Crito,  I  owe 
a  cock  to  Asclepius;  will  you  remember  to  pay  the  debt?" 
"The   debt   shall  be  paid,"  said  Crito;   "is   there   anything 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  317 

else?  "  There  was  no  answer  to  this  question;  but  in  a  minute 
or  two  a  movement  was  heard,  and  the  attendants  uncovered 
him;  his  eyes  were  set,  and  Crito  closed  his  eyes  and  mouth. 
Such  was  the  end,  Echecrates,  of  our  friend;  concerning 
whom  I  may  truly  say,  that  of  all  men  of  his  time  whom 
/.   lave  known,  he  was  the  wisest  and  justest  and  best. 

Phado,  63-67, 


CHAPTER  XV 

THEOCRITUS    AND    HIS    AGE 

Literary  Athens  in  the  Fourth  Century — The  Effect  of  the  Loss 
of  Political  Freedom  upon  Greek  Literature  —  The  Spreac 
of  Greek  Civilization  with  Alexander's  Conquests — Char 
acteristics  of  the  Alexandrine  Literature  —  Bucolic  Poetr) 
—  Theocritus — Bion  and  Moschus  —  Selections. 

During  the  fourth  century  before  Christ  Athens 
maintained  unchallenged  her  position  as  the  fountain 
head  and  home  of  Greek  letters.  After  the  Pelopon 
nesian  war  the  political  leadership  had  passed  first  tc 
Lacedsemon  and  then  to  Thebes;  and  Athens  had  noi 
fully  regained  her  old  prestige  when  the  power  o] 
Macedon  began  to  dominate  Greek  politics.  But  none 
the  less  the  greatest  poets,  historians,  and  philoso 
phers  continued  as  before  to  make  their  home  ir 
the  Attic  capitaL  To  have  a  recognized  standing  then 
in  the  schools  of  rhetoric  and  philosophy,  before  th( 
courts  and  popular  assembly,  in  the  theatre,  or  in  th( 
more  purely  literary  circles,  was  the  natural  ambitior 
of  every  aspiring  writer  of  the  Greek  world.  Syracuse 
had  not  ceased  to  produce  writers  of  merit,  but  ever 
the  efforts  and  example  of  the  elder  Dionysius  coulc 
not  make  her  a  rival  of  Athens.  The  literary  aspira 
tions  of  Dionysius  himself  were  not  satisfied  until  his 
tragedies  had  been  crowned  by  a  victory  in  the  Atheniar 
theatre;  and  Plato,  in  spite  of  his  dissatisfaction  witl: 
the  Athenian  democracy,  found  the  atmosphere  of  th( 

318 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  3^9  \ 

1 
Sicilian  capital  uncongenial.  The  attitude  of  Athens  \ 
toward  the  stranger  of  Greek  birth  was  hospitable  and  ' 
generous.  Merit  was  frankly  recognized,  and  even  i 
Athenian  citizenship  was  freely  conferred  upon  those  \ 
who  brought  honor  to  their  adopted  city.  The  society  \ 
of  literary  people  there  consequently  became  more  and  \ 
more  cosmopolitan.  : 

The  political  supremacy  of  Macedon  after  the  bat-  { 
tie  of  Chaeronea  (338)  was  responsible  for  momentous  i 
changes  both  in  the  character  of  Greek  literature  and  I 
in  the  relation  of  Athens  to  it.  With  the  death  of  | 
political  liberty  in  Greece,  the  creative  spirit,  and  the  i 
genius  which  goes  with  it,  slowly  but  surely  passed  j 
away.  There  were  still  writers  innumerable.  The  art  j 
of  elegant  composition  in  prose  and  verse  survived,] 
but  the  spirit  was  fettered.  The  conditions  which  had  : 
produced  Homer,  Sappho,  Sophocles,  Aristophanes,  ■ 
Thucydides,  Plato,  and  Demosthenes  had  departed  | 
forever.  Greece  was  yet  to  produce  great  writers,  but  \ 
the  distinctively  Hellenic  flavor  which  had  made  the  ! 
earlier  literature  preeminent  for  all  time  was  gradually  \ 
weakened,  and  then  lost  altogether.  The  qutck  and  ! 
wholesome  reaction  of  an  intelligent  populace  upon  \ 
the  poets,  orators,  and  historians,  who  addressed  the  \ 
public  directly  and  depended  upon  the  popular  ver-  • 
diet — a  relationship  which  was  possible  only  in  a  free  i 
citizen-state — now  gave  place  to  the  unsafe  and  often  i 
capricious  judgment  of  a  literary  oligarchy.  The  result  ■{ 
was  affectation  in  place  of  simplicity.  One  exception,  '• 
however,  must  be  noted.  For  at  least  two  genera-  ■ 
tions  after  Alexander's  death  the  conditions  of  dra- 
matic performances  at  Athens  favored  the  cultivation  j 
of    the    comedy    of    manners.      The   New  Comedy  of  ! 


320  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Philemon,  Menander,  and  their  successors  was  essen- 
tially a  new  type  of  literature,  a  fresh  and  natural 
adaptation  of  an  old  form  to  new  conditions.  It  was 
the  last  flower  of  literature  that  sprang  spontaneously 
from  the  soil  of  Attica. 

The  loss  of  the  old  creative  spirit,  however,  was  in 
part  compensated  by  the  wider  diffusion  of  Greek 
culture  which  followed  the  conquests  of  Alexander. 
Greek  civilization  was  spread  throughout  Asia  and 
Egypt,  and  over  portions  of  Europe  which  had  once 
been  counted  barbarian.  The  cultivated  world  came 
to  speak  and  to  write  Greek.  In  the  kingdoms  which 
arose  from  Alexander's  empire  new  centres  of  culture 
sprang  up  and  became  centres  of  learning  and  litera- 
ture. Alexandria  in  Egypt,  and  later,  Pergamum  in 
the  Troad,  now  shared  with  Athens,  Syracuse,  and 
the  lesser  capitals  the  distinction  which  had  once 
belonged  almost  exclusively  to  Athens.  Athens  con- 
tinued to  be  the  greatest  university  town,  on  account 
of  her  ancient  prestige  and  her  flourishing  schools  of 
philosophy;  but  Alexandria  soon  attracted  the  writers 
of  best  ability.  The  period  extending  from  about 
the  beginning  of  the  third  century  down  to  the  Roman 
conquest  is  known  as  the  Alexandrine  period  of  Greek 
literature.  The  literature  of  the  post-classical  period — 
in  fact,  the  whole  civilization — is  often  called  "Hellen- 
istic," from  the  fact  that,  while  Hellenic  in  its  general 
character,  the  people  who  participated  in  it  were  not 
exclusively  pure  Hellenes.  But  the  term  is  somewhat 
vague  and  often  misused. 

The  literature  of  the  Alexandrine  age,  with  the 
exception  of  the  New  Comedy,  was  essentially  a  book- 
literature — that  is,    the  authors  addressed  a   reading 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  321 

public  and  no  longer  the  people  at  large  through  oral 
recitation  or  performance.  This  was  true  even  of 
tragedy  to  a  considerable  extent,  Chseremon,  a  poet  of 
the  fourth  century,  having  first  set  the  example 
of  writing  tragedies  not  intended  for  the  stage.  In  the 
second  place,  it  was  mainly  an  imitative  or  derivative, 
and  not  an  original,  literature.  The  canons  of  the 
great  classical  writers  in  each  branch  were  established, 
their  unapproachable  excellence  acknowledged,  and 
the  new  poets,  instead  of  drawing  their  inspiration 
directly  from  life,  labored,  by  careful  study  of  the  old 
models,  to  reproduce  their  literary  qualities.  The 
most  extensive  as  well  as  the  best  work  of  this  kind 
was  the  Argonautica  of  Apollonius  of  Rhodes  (194 
B.  C),  an  epic  narrative  of  Jason's  quest  of  the  golden 
fleece — a  good  example  of  the  "literary"  as  opposed 
to  the  "natural"  epic.  Mention  should  also  be  made 
of  the  Hymns  to  the  Gods  by  Callimachus  (260  B.  C), 
and  the  famous  Hytrin  to  Zeus  by  Cleanthes. 

As  a  direct  result  of  the  conditions  above  outlined, 
Alexandrine  poetry  tended  to  be  highly  artificial  and 
affected.  Lyric  poetry  flourished  mainly  in  the  form 
of  the  elegy  and  the  epigram.  As  the  artistic  taste  of 
the  time  showed  a  predilection  for  cut  gems,  so  the 
elegant  epigram  of  from  four  to  eight  verses  found 
especial  favor.  A  very  large  number  of  the  poems  of 
the  Anthology  go  back  to  this  period.  The  epigram 
was  diverted  from  its  original  use  for  commemorative 
or  dedicatory  inscriptions,  and  was  largely  employed 
as  a  vehicle  for  conceits  on  any  topic  of  interest  to 
the  literary  circles.  The  elegy  was  closely  related 
to  the  epigram,  but  permitted  of  the  more  extended, 
ballad-like    narrative   of   love-adventures,    tales  from 


3 12  Homer  to  Theocritus 

mythology,  and  complimentary  descriptions  of  court 
favorites.  The  Lock  of  Berenice^  by  Callimachus,  pre- 
served in  the  translation  of  Catullus,  illustrates  the 
character  of  much  of  the  poetry  of  the  period.  The 
poet  relates  how  some  tresses  of  hair  which  Berenice, 
queen  of  Ptolemy  III,  had  laid  upon  an  altar,  had 
been  taken  by  the  gods  and  placed  among  the  constel- 
lations of  the  heavens.  The  Alexandrine  elegiac 
poets  exercised  a  strong  influence  upon  the  Roman 
poets  of  the  Augustan  age. 

It  was  an  age  also  of  science  and  erudition.  The 
first  Ptolemy  had  founded  at  Alexandria  the  Museum, 
where  men  of  learning  came  together  for  study  and 
instruction  and  were  maintained  at  the  expense  of 
the  king.  A  great  library  was  founded  in  connection 
with  this  'Temple  of  the  Muses,'  and  another  elsewhere 
in  the  city,  the  two  containing  over  five  hundred 
thousand  rolls.  The  great  library  at  Pergamum  con- 
tained over  two  hundred  thousand  rolls  when  its  treas- 
ures were  presented  to  Cleopatra  by  Antony  and  incor- 
porated with  the  libraries  at  Alexandria.  Famous 
scholars  were  placed  at  the  head  of  these  libraries. 
They  took  up  the  lines  of  work  which  Aristotle  had 
inaugurated  at  Athens,  and  gathered  about  themselves 
men  of  encyclopaedic  learning.  Great  attention  was 
given  to  literary  history  and  criticism,  biography, 
mythology,  chronology,  philology,  astronomy,  mathe- 
matics, and  the  other  sciences.  From  these  hothouses 
of  learning  sprang  up  a  multitude  of  books  on  every 
conceivable  subject,  works  which  laid'  the  foundations 
of  modern  knowledge  in  many  branches — as,  for  exam- 
ple, the  famous  Elements  of  Euclid.  It  was  at  Alex- 
andria, under  the  patronage  of  the  Ptolemies,  that  the 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  323 

Septuagint  translation  of  the  Old  Testament  was 
made. 

It  was  during  the  first  half -century  of  the  Alex- 
andrine period,  a  time  so  unfavorable  to  original  crea- 
tions in  pure  literature,  that  the  last  flower  of  true 
Greek  poesy  came  to  bloom.  The  bucolic  or  pastoral 
poetry  of  Theocritus  represented  a  natural  reaction 
from  the  conventionalities  of  the  over-refined  life  of  the 
Egyptian  court,  with  its  luxuries,  flatteries,  and  arti- 
ficial standards  of  taste.  It  was  a  revolt  from  art  to 
nature.  Sicily  was  the  birthplace  of  this  branch  of 
poetry,  which  was,  in  the  main,  the  natural  outgrowth 
of  the  conditions  of  peasant  life  in  Sicily.  We  have 
already  had  occasion  to  note,  in  connection  with  the 
comedies  of  Epicharmus,  the  innate  gift  of  mimicry 
and  dramatic  impersonation  possessed  by  the  Sicilians, 
in  common  with  the  southern  Italians.  Sophron 
(about  440  B.  C.)  developed  one  species  of  mimic 
poetry,  the  mime  or  farce,  in  which  detached  situa- 
tions were  represented,  but  without  a  real  plot.  Again, 
there  was  current  among  the  Sicilian  peasantry 
a  romantic  legend  of  the  shepherd  Daphnis,  who  pined 
away  and  died  for  love.  Stesichorus  s<3ems  to  have 
been  the  first  to  introduce  Daphnis  into  literature. 
And  finally  the  shepherds  had  the  custom  of  contend- 
ing in  song  for  a  prize,  singing  alternate  strains  to  the 
accompaniment  of  the  shepherd's  pipe.  These  three 
elements  all  entered  into  the  type  of  bucolic  poetry 
brought  to  perfection  by  Theocritus. 

The  bucolic  poets  employed  the  hexameter  verse. 
But  the  shepherd's  song  approaches  lyric  poetry  some^ 
what  in  form,  in  that,  as  a  rule,  several  verses  are 
bound  together  into  groups  or  stanzas,  either  by  the 


324  Homer  to  Theocritus 

thought  or  by  recurring  verses,  which  constitute 
a  refrain.  The  term  "bucoHc, "  which  strictly  implies 
only  the  neatherd,  is  freely  used  to  include  the 
shepherd,  goatherd,  swineherd,  or  representatives  of 
other  rural  occupations.  The  simple  poem  is  called  an 
**idyll,"  or  "little  picture,"  which  is  really  a  broader 
term  than  bucolic,  for  it  includes  also  the  poems  of 
a  dramatic  or  descriptive  nature  which  are  not  pastoral. 

Theocritus  (about  270  B.  C),  the  greatest  of  the 
.pastoral  poets,  was  born  either  in  Syracuse  or  on  the 
island  of  Cos.  He  probably  spent  a  large  part  of  his 
life  at  Syracuse,  where  he  enjoyed  the  patronage  of 
Hiero  II.  He  also  was  connected  with  the  court  of 
Ptolemy  Philadelphus  at  Alexandria.  His  poems 
addressed  to  these  monarchs  show  that  he  was  not 
unskilled  in  the  servile  flattery  with  which  the  satellites 
of  the  court  addressed  their  royal  patrons.  He  was 
a  member  of  the  literary  group  which  centred  in  Cos, 
to  which  the  poet  Aratus,  whom  St.  Paul  quotes  (Acts 
xvii,  28),  also  belonged.  He  wrote  mainly  in  the 
Dorian  dialect  of  Sicily.  Thirty-one  poems  and  some 
epigrams  are  handed  down  under  his  name,  some  of 
which,  however,  are  later  imitations.  About  half  of 
these  poems,  most  of  which  may  properly  be  called 
idylls,  are  bucolic  in  their  character.  Others  are 
mimes,  scenes  from  mythology,  and  occasional  poems. 

Theocritus  does  not  escape  entirely  from  the  arti- 
ficiality of  his  age.  Under  the  mask  of  shepherds' 
names  he  often  introduces  himself  and  his  literary 
friends.  Nor  do  his  shepherds  always  employ  language 
perfectly  in  keeping  with  their  character.  The  erotic 
strain  that  is  present  in  most  of  the  idylls  is  also 
a  mark  of  the  Alexandrine  age.     But  in  spite  of  these 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  ^'^5 

limitations,  which  are  equally  true  of  all  pastoral 
poetry,  from  YergiVs  £c/ogues  to  Milton's  Lycidas  and 
Shelley's  Adonais^  Theocritus  reveals  everywhere 
a  true  feeling  for  nature  and  a  genuine  sympathy  for 
the  experiences  of  rural  life. 

Of  the  two  other  pastoral  poets  of  Greece,  Bion  and 
Moschus,  we  know  little  more  than  that  the  former 
was  a  younger  contemporary  of  Theocritus  and  that 
Moschus  was  a  pupil  of  Bion.  Bion's  Lament  for 
Adonis,  a  rather  extravagant  and  turgid  poem,  has 
been  imitated  by  Shelley.  The  Lament  for  Bion,  by 
Moschus,  has  been  much  admired,  and  contains  some 
exquisite  passages.  The  works  of  these  poets,  and  of 
Theocritus,  as  well  as  some  imitations  of  unknown 
authorship,  are  preserved  in  a  collection  made  in  the 
time  of  Augustus.  At  the  head  of  the  collection  was 
placed  the  following  bucolic  idyll  of  Theocritus,  evi- 
dently because  it  was  considered  by  antiquity,  as  it 
still  is  to-day,  the  most  perfect  and  charming  poem  of 
its  kind.     I  quote  it  entire: 

THE   DEATH    OF    DAPHNIS 

THYRSIS   AND   A   GOATHERD 

Th.    Sweet  are  the  whispers  of  yon  pine  that  makes 
Low  music  o  'er  the  spring,  and,  Goatherd,  sweet 
Thy  piping  ;  second  thou  to  Pan  alone. 
Is  his  the  horned  ram  ?  then  thine  the  goat. 
Is  his  the  goat  ?  to  thee  shall  fall  the  kid  ; 
And  toothsome  is  the  flesh  of  unmilked  kids. 

Go.    Shepherd,  thy  lay  is  as  the  noise  of  streams 
Falling  and  falling  aye  from  yon  tall  crag. 
If  for  their  meed  the  Muses  claim  the  ewe. 
Be  thine  the  stall-fed  lamb  ;  or  if  they  choose 
The  lamb,  take  thou  the  scarce  less-valued  ewe. 


2^6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Th.    Pray,  by  the  nymphs,  pray,  Goatherd,  seat  thee  here 
Against  this  hill-slope  in  the  tamarisk  shade. 
And  pipe  me  somewhat,  while  I  guard  thy  goats. 

Go.    I  durst  not,  Shepherd.  O,  I  durst  not  pipe 
At  noontide  ;  fearing  Pan,  who  at  that  hour 
Rests  from  the  toil  of  hunting.     Harsh  is  he  ; 
Wrath  at  his  nostrils  aye  sits  sentinel. 
But,  Thrysis,  thou  canst  sing  of  Daphnis'  woes  ; 
High  is  thy  name  for  woodland  minstrelsy  : 
Then  rest  we  in  the  shadow  of  the  elm 
Fronting  Priapus  and  the  Fountain-nymphs. 
There,  where  the  oaks  are  and  the  Shepherd's  seat. 
Sing  as  thou  sang'st  erewhile,  when  matched  with  him 
Of  Libya,  Chromis  ;  and  I  '11  give  thee,  first, 
To  milk,  ay  thrice,  a  goat — she  suckles  twins, 
Yet  ne'ertheless  can  fill  two  milk-pails  full ; — 
Next,  a  deep  drinking-cup,  with  sweet  wax  scoured, 
Two-handled,  newly  carven,  smacking  yet 
O'  the  chisel.     Ivy  reaches  up  and  climbs 
About  its  lip,  gilt  here  and  there  with  sprays 
Of  woodbine,  that  enwreathed  about  it  flaunts 
Her  saffron  fruitage.     Framed  therein  appears 
A  damsel  ('tis  a  miracle  of  art) 
In  robe  and  snood  :  and  suitors  at  her  side, 
With  locks  fair-flowing,  on  her  right  and  left, 
Battle  with  words,  that  fail  to  reach  her  heart.  j 

She,  laughing,  glances  now  on  this,  flings  now  ] 

Her  chance  regards  on  that :  they,  all  for  love  ! 

Wearied  and  eye-swoln,  find  their  labour  lost.  j 

Carven  elsewhere  an  ancient  fisher  stands  \ 

On  the  rough  rocks  ;  thereto  the  old  man  with  pains  ■ 

Drags  his  great  casting-net,  as  one  that  toils  i 

Full  stoutly  :  every  fibre  of  his  frame 

Seems  fishing  ;  so  about  the  gray-beard's  neck  ,! 

(In  might  a  youngster  yet)  the  sinews  swell.  * 

Hard  by  that  wave-beat  sire  a  vineyard  bends 
Beneath  its  graceful  load  of  burnished  grapes; 
A  boy  sits  on  the  rude  fence  watching  them. 
Near  him  two  foxes  :  down  the  rows  of  grapes  i 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  3^7 

One  ranging  steals  the  ripest ;  one  assails 
With  wiles  the  poor  lad's  scrip,  to  leave  him  soon 
Stranded  and  supperless.     He  plaits  meanwhile 
With  ears  of  corn  a  right  fine  cricket-trap, 
And  fits  it  on  a  rush  :  for  vines,  for  scrip. 
Little  he  cares,  enamoured  of  his  toy. 

The  cup  is  hung  all  round  with  lissom  briar. 
Triumph  of  ^olian  art,  a  wondrous  sight. 
It  was  a  ferryman's  of  Calydon  : 
A  goat  it  cost  me,  and  a  great  white  cheese. 
Ne'er  yet  my  lips  came  near  it,  virgin  still 
It  stands.    And  welcome  to  such  boon  art  thou, 
If  for  my  sake  thou'lt  sing  that  lay  of  lays. 
I  jest  not :  up,  lad,  sing  :  no  songs  thou'lt  own 
In  the  dim  land  where  all  things  are  forgot. 

THE   SONG   OF   THYRSIS 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
The  voice  of  Thyrsis,  ^Etna's  Thyrsis  I. 
Where  were  ye,  Nymphs,  oh  where,  while  Daphnis  pined? 
In  fair  Peneiis  or  in  Pindus'  glens  ? 
For  great  Anapus'  stream  was  not  your  haunt, 
Nor  ^Etna's  cliff,  nor  Acis'  sacred  rill. 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
O'er  him  the  wolves,  the  jackals  howled  o'er  him  ; 
The  lion  in  the  oak-copse  mourned  his  death. 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
The  kine  and  oxen  stood  around  his  feet. 
The  heifers  and  the  calves  wailed  all  for  him. 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
First  from  the  mountain  Hermes  came,  and  said, 
"  Daphnis,  who  frets  thee  ?  Lad,  whom  lov'st  thou  so?' 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
Came  herdsmen,  shepherds  came,  and  goatherds  came; 
All  asked  what  ailed  the  lad.     Priapus  came 
And  said,  "  Why  pine,  poor  Daphnis,  while  the  maid 
Foots  it  round  every  pool  and  every  grove," 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song, 
**0  lack-love  and  perverse,  in  quest  of  thee  ; 


328  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Herdsman  in  name,  but  goatherd  rightlier  called. 
With  eyes  that  yearn  the  goatherd  marks  his  kids 
Run  riot,  for  he  fain  would  frisk  as  they : " 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
"  With  eyes  that  yearn  dost  thou  too  mark  the  laugh 
Of  maidens,  for  thou  may'st  not  share  their  glee." 
Still  naught  the  herdsman  said  :  he  drained  alone 
His  bitter  portion,  till  the  fatal  end. 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song.   - 
Came  Aphrodite,  smiles  on  her  sweet  face, 
False  smiles,  for  heavy  was  her  heart,  and  spake  : 
"  So,  Daphnis,  thou  must  try  a  fall  with  Love  ! 
But  stalwart  Love  hath  won  the  fall  of  thee." 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
Then  "  Ruthless  Aphrodite,"  Daphnis  said, 
"  Accursed  Aphrodite,  foe  to  man  ! 
Say'st  thou  mine  hour  has  come,  my  sun  hath  set  ? 
Dead  or  alive,  shall  Daphnis  work  Love  woe." 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
"  Fly  to  Mount  Ida,  where  the  swain  (men  say) 
And  Aphrodite— to  Anchises  fly; 
There  are  oak  forests,  here  but  galingale, 
And  bees  that  make  a  music  round  the  hives." 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
"  Adonis  owed  his  bloom  to  tending  flocks 
And  smiting  hares,  and  bringing  wild  beasts  down." 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
"  Face  once  more  Diomed  :  tell  him,  *  I  have  slain 
The  herdsman  Daphnis  ;  now  I  challenge  thee.' 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
"  Farewell,  wolf,  jackal,  mountain-prisoned  bear! 
Ye  '11  see  no  more  by  grove  or  glado  or  glen 
Your  herdsman  Daphnis  !     Arethuse,  farewell, 
And  the  bright  streams  that  flow  down  Thymbris'  side. 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song.    ■ 
"  I  am  that  Daphnis  who  lead  here  my  kine, 
Bring  here  to  drink  my  oxen  and  my  calves." 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  .woodland  song. 
**  Pan,  Pan,  oh,  whether  great  Lyceum's  crags 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  329 

Thou  haunt'st  to-day,  or  mightier  Maenalus, 
Come  to  the  Sicel  isle  !     Abandon  now 
Rhium  and  Helice,  and  the  mountain-cairn 
(That  e'en  gods  cherish)  of  Lycaon's  son!  " 

Forget,  sweet  maids,  forget  your  ivoodland  song, 
"  Come,  king  of  song,  o'er  this  my  pipe,  compact 
With  wax  and  honey-breathing,  arch  thy  lip  : 
For  surely  I  am  torn  from  life  by  Love." 

Forget,  sweet  maids,  forget  your  woodland  song, 
"  From  thicket  now  and  thorn  let  violets  spring, 
Now  let  white  lilies  drape  the  juniper, 
And  pines  grow  figs,  and  nature  all  go  wrong  ; 
For  Daphnis  dies.     Let  deer  pursue  the  hounds, 
And  mountain-owls  out-sing  the  nightingale." 

Forget,  sweet  maids,  forget  your  woodland  song. 
So  spake  he,  and  he  never  spake  again. 
Fain  Aphrodite  would  have  raised  his  head  ; 
But  all  his  thread  was  spun.    So  down  the  stream 
Went  Daphnis:  closed  the  waters  o'er  a  head 
Dear  to  the  Nine,  of  Nymphs  not  unbeloved. 

Forget,  sweet  maids,  forget  your  woodland  song. 

Now  give  me  goat  and  cup  ;  that  I  may  milk 
The  one  and  pour  the  other  to  the  Muse. 
Fare  ye  well,  Muses,  o'er  and  o'er  farewell ! 
I  '11  sing  strains  lovelier  yet  in  days  to  be. 
Go.    Thyrsis,  let  honey  and  the  honey-comb 
Fill  thy  sweet  mouth,  and  figs  of  vEgilus  : 
For  ne'er  cicala  trilled  so  sweet  a  song. 
Here  is  the  cup  :  mark,  friend,  how  sweet  it  smells; 
The  Hours,  thou'lt  say,  have  washed  it  in  their  well. 
Hither,  Cissaetha  !     Thou,  go  milk  her'f    Kids, 
Be  steady,  or  your  pranks  will  rouse  the  ram. 

Calverley. 


FORNi! 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
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DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


'    MAY  25  im 


^^^  n  m 


API?  I'k^  1938 


R£<"D  LD 


OEC:  28  {35g 


MAY    8    1939 


WM  1  B  iyb6  a  4 


API?    IP  t940 


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EC'D  LDy'^ 


SEP  19  l9«yM 


MAR14'£fe>:^piu 


FEB  9   1942 


JAN 

10  1« 

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21793 


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